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Aunt Lizzie 





Sixtf) iEtJition 

350 Marshfield Avenue. 


LIBRARY "^^^^^ 



A. D. 1880. 


This woman was full of good works and alms fleeds which she did 

—ACTS IX, 36 

It is prodigious the quantity of good that may be done by one man, 
if he will but make a business of it. 


How far that little candle throws his beams! 
So shines a good deed In this naughty world. 

—Merchant op Venick 

I have shoW' d you all things, how that laboring ye ought to support 
the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jtsus, how he said, 

it is more blessed to give than to receive. 

—Acts xx, 36. 



I. Early Days 9 

II. Pioneer Life 26 

III. Discipline 49 

IV. "Aunt Lizzie" .... 69 
V. In the General Hospitals . . .99 

VI. First Two Years in Chicago . . 135 

YII. In the Sunday School . . .149 

YIIL Aunt Lizzie's Girls' Meeting . 165 

IX. Among the Sick . . . .173 

X. Labors Among the Poor . . 184 

XL Labors Manifold . . . .200 

XIL Prominent Traits . . . .218 






Though a tlioiisand biographies of great and good 
men and women have been written, there is always 
room for another, for Imman life is endless in inci- 
dent. Though the elements of hundreds of careers 
are alike, the combinations into which thej are 
cast are infinitely varied. 

The Bible and Shakspeare are but arrangements 
of the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, yet who 
would mistake the one for the other ? The beau- 
ties of the sunset, though always composed of 
atmosphere, cloud and sunbeams, change every 

It has been said that nature never repeats her- 
self. This might even more truly be said of human 



life, and especially of Christian life, for when the 
Sun of Righteousness pours his light upon a hu- 
man soul, the effects are as varied as those of the 
natural dawn. 

Many have thought that a life so rich in event 
and work for the Master, as that of Aunt Lizzie 
has been, should not pass away without some re- 
cord. Her early life in the West, while it was still 
a new country ; her labors as hospital nurse dur- 
ing the war, and as missionary in the city of 
Chicago, have each their separate interest. This 
book is written, not only to tell the story of a noble 
life, but also that other workers in the great field 
of humanity may take courage from the varied ex- 
periences and gathered wisdom of a veteran. 

Eliza N. Atherton was born March 24th, 1817, 
at the house of her maternal' grandfather in Auburn, 
Cayuga county, New York. Her mother, whose 
maiden name was Deborah Ward, was the favorite 
daughter in a largo family of sisters and brothers. 
There is often in such families one daughter, who 
from greater amiability of disposition and intense 
filial affection clings closer than the rest to the pa- 
ternal home, and returns at every opportunity to 
spend a few more delightful days with her parents. 
Such a daughter Deborah Atherton appears to have 
been. Although her home was in Albany, her older 
children were born at her father's house, and we find 
her often there on visits. 


Thus it happened that little Eliza, or Lizzie, as 
she has always been called, had two homes during 
the first years of her life, being first with her mother 
in Albany, and again spending months at a time 
with her grandparents at Auburn. 

John Ward of Auburn, demands more than a 
passing notice on account of the moulding influence 
that he exerted on the character of his grand- 
daughter. Descended from a New England family 
which had given General Artemus Ward to the 
revolutionary army, he settled in Auburn prior to 
1817, coming there from a farm in the vicinity. 
When the little Baptist church was formed, he was 
one of its constituent members. Always a lovely 
and consistent Christian, he shone as a light set on 
a candlestick among his kinsfolk and acquaintance, 
and the earliest religious training, and afterward 
the conversion of Lizzie Atherton were due, under 
God, largely to her grandfather. 

Indeed one of her earliest recollections is that of 
standing beside him, singing the old hymns which 
he loved, in the Court House, where the Baptists 
at first assembled for both church and Sunday-school 
services. He had a irood ear for music and a sweet 
voice, and delighted to train his favorite little 
granddaugliter in singing. It was in a measure 
from his instruction and example that she acquired 
the habit of comforting the sick and the dying by 


the songs of a better land, — a habit, how valuable 
and consolatory the wounded from many a battle- 
Held could testify. At his house she was perfectly 
happy. Her impulsive affection had from him a 
return that caused it to unfold like a flower in the 

She is remembered by old residents of Auburn 
as a happy little girl, always singing about her play, 
tender and loving to the little ones among the chil- 
dren with whom she associated, trudging off to 
school in the morning as cheerfully as to her sports. 
When her sister Fanny was born, a feeble child who 
could not walk till she was three or four years old, 
Lizzie took her at once into her heart and almost 
idolized her. Being six years older, she felt like a 
little mother, and nursed and tended the baby with 
the greatest devotion. 

If Lizzie were happy in Auburn she was no less 
so in Albany. Few see a more delightful child- 
hood. She attended a school kept by Mrs. Murray, 
a lovely woman, and an intimate friend of her 
mother. Once a week she was taken to amuse her- 
self at the old museum, and sometimes on Sunday, 
walked with her parents in what was called "Jimmy 
Cane's walk," the gardens of an old Mansion House, 
that had survived from early times. What a de- 
light were these strolls to the susceptible child. 
Every flower that bloomed, every bird that sang, 


found its way into her heart, and has retained a 
place iu her memory all these years. 

One of Lizzie's greatest delights was to sit in the 
old First Baptist church, and listen to her mother 
singino' counter in the choir. Deborah Athertou 
inherited her father's sweet voice, and to her little 
daughter it sounded almost like the music of the 
angels. Not often do mother and child love and 
cling to each other as these did. A perfect har- 
mony seems always to have existed between them, 
not only outward, but also even in their thoughts. 
The mother cherished and appreciated her child, and 
the daughter, as she grew older, gradually became 
the stav of her mother's failincj health. 

When Lizzie was about seven years old, her fath- 
er took her with him to New York, whither he 
went to buy goods. Such a trip was quite a jour- 
ney in those days of slow travel, and was doubly 
interesting because the puffing little steamboat on 
which they went was, even then, still one of the 
novelties of the New World. 

They stayed some days in New York, and on 
their return home Lizzie surprised her mother by ap- 
pearing in a red cloak and hat, the hat made doubly 
tine by a long white feather. 

In March, 1826, an event occurred which changed 
the whole current of Lizzie's life. This was the 
death of her grandfather, Jonathan Atherton, of 


CavendisL, Windsor county, Vermont. He came 
of an English family of Lancashire, whose general 
history can be traced back for over six hundred 
years. They were eminently a knightly race, and 
were allied with many noble families. Jonathan 
Atherton was born in England, but came to this 
country after his marriage, and settled at Caven- 
dish, where he owned two large grazing farms. At 
his death he left the home I'arm to Lizzie's father, 
Steadman Atherton, the youngest in a family of 
five children, with the understanding that he should 
make it his home and care for his widowed mother. 
Accordingly, in October of the same year, having 
wound up his business in Albany, he removed to 
Cavendish with his wife and two little girls, Lizzie 
being about nine years old. 

This was a great change from either the city of 
Albany or the town of Auburn. The farm lies ten 
miles back from the Connecticut River, among the 
beautiful hills of Southern Vermont. It was a 
little world in itself, with three immense orchards, 
pastures for hundreds of sheep, and broad grain 
fields. The house, built after the olden fashion, 
round a stack of chimneys as large as a good-sized 
room, was at that time painted red, and stood on the 
top of a hill. Down the slope, shaded by the glo- 
rious elms of New England, stretched a wide lawn, 
while near the house, roses and a multitude of 


other flowers made the sweet air of the mountains 
sweeter yet by their fragrance. To the east rose old 
Ascutnej, its green sides dotted with farra-houses. 
As stores, schools and churches were three miles 
away, the family lived much by themselves, and 
many of the articles used on the farm were manu- 
factured there as well. The chief delight of lit- 
tle Eliza was to linger in the wood-house chamber 
when the spinning and weaving were in progress, 
or to go to the " shop" where all the mysteries of 
making sausages, soap, and a hundred other things 
could be seen, each in its season. Sheep-barns and 
cattle-barns made grand play-houses in stormy 

But though the place was so delightful, and the 
amusements so varied, the real discipline of life began 
just here for both Deboi-ah Atherton and her daugh- 
ter. Grandmother Atherton was a trim little En- 
glish woman, with white mob-cap and spotless ker- 
chief, proud of her family and her good house-keep- 
ing. She held very different ideas about the man- 
agement of the affairs of both house and farm from 
her town-bred daughter-in-law. Young Mrs. Ath- 
erton did not know how to spin or to weave, to make 
head-cheese or sausages, to see that the wild plums 
were gathered for preserves, or the cherries made in- 
to cherry-bounce. But all these things were a small 
part of the work of the farm and were a great bar- 


den to a person in feeble health, when added to the 
care of her many little cliildren; there were ten in 

Lizzie's trials were of a different kind, bnt equal- 
ly severe. Her grandmother looked upon her name- 
sake as a spoiled child, — a petted one she certainly 
was. She therefore undertook to train her in the 
way she should go, and many a severe look and 
little scolding fell to the share of the sensitive 
child. ISTo doubt it was all intended for her good, 
and, in God's wise purpose, it no doubt resulted in 
good to her, but the first effect was almost to break 
her heart. She could hardly eat if Grandmother 
were looking at her, and cried herself nearly ill 
about it. Thus mother and child were drawn closer 
than ever together, and shared their troubles. In 
endeavoring to help the parent, who was so dear to 
her, Lizzie learned many things which proved of 
inestimable value to her afterwards. 

Still, in spite of her trials with her grandmother's 
old fashioned discipline, Lizzie, after she grew a 
little used to it, lived a very happy life at Caven- 
dish. Three miles away, on the other farm, lived 
her uncle Jonathan Atherton and his wdfe, Aunt 
Roxy, for whom one of Lizzie's little sisters was 
named. With the children of this family she en- 
joyed most delightful intercourse. She also made 
frequent visits to a little village called Greenbush, 


whicli nestles under the very shadow of old Ascut- 
ney, and which ra illuminated by the happiest 
memories. Here with her three cousins, the daugh- 
ters of Mrs. Olive Atherton, many of the golden 
hours of Lizzie's youth were passed. 

Through the winter Lizzie went to school, always 
loving to learn and standing at the head in the spel- 
ling and geography classes, but, poor child, away 
down at the foot in arithmetic, which she hated. In 
the spring there were endless violets andhoustonia 
in the wide meadows, and lambs in the pastures, to 
see which Lizzie climbed fences even at the risk of 
a torn frock, and a bit of reproof from her grand- 

Li the Autumn of 1S29, Mrs. Atlierton was called 
to Auburn by the failing health of her father, and 
took Lizzie with her ; for her grandfather wished to 
see his favorite once more. He gradually became 
weaker, until on the afternoon of the fourth of Oc- 
tober, the family were called in to see him die. 
Even in that supreme hour the good man did not 
think of himself. His peace had long ago been 
made with God. Being assured of a happy future 
through Clirist, he had 

" A heart at leisure from itself, " 
to think of the good of others. And so when Liz- 
zie threw herself upon his bed in a paroxysm of tears, 
with all a child's abandonment of grief, his thought 


was " how can I leave this pet lamb of mine till she is 
safe in the fold of the great Sheplierd." He resolv- 
ed to make one more effort to lead her to the Savior. 

" Sing," he said, " sing, Lizzie, of Jesus, sing 
something that grandpa loves." 

Choking down the sobs, the little girl began the 
hymn thej had so often sung together in the even- 
ing twilight, 

" Jesus, the vision of thy face 

Hath overpowering charms. 
Scarce shall I feel death's cold embrace, 
If Christ be in my arms." 

"What made jou think of that?" asked the dy- 
ing saint. 

"Because you love it," answered Lizzie. 

" Don't you love Jesus?" was the next question. 

"No, sir." 

" What makes you think that you do not?" 

"Because," answered the conscience-stricken 
child, " because I do not keep his commandments." 

Once more came the question, asked with flutter- 
ing breath, "Don't you want to love Him?" 

"Yes, sir," answered Lizzie, "but I don't know 

Her grandfather laid his cold hand on her head, 
and repeated again and again the words, " only 
trust Him, only trust Him," till his voice was hushed 
in death. Surely John Ward was faithful even in 


death, and went to receive a crown of life. His 
last wish was granted. Lizzie did trust Jesus tben, 
and her grandfather no doubt took to heaven with 
him the blessed knowledge that, as he laid down 
the standard of the cross, his precious grandchild 
took it up to bear it after him. 

Enthusiastic in religion as in everything else, Liz- 
zie was full of joy, even in the midst of her sorrow, 
and attended the funeral looking beyond the coffin 
and the grave, and feeling the presence of Jesus a 
sufficient comfort. 

The whole town turned out to show their appre- 
ciation of the good man who had left them. The 
funeral was held in the Baptist church, that he had 
helped to build, and his fellow deacons were the pall 
bearers. Other men in Auburn had perhaps been 
more successful in building up fortunes, but none 
succeeded better in building a character. He was 
known and "loved by everybody on account of his 
Christian worth. 

The impression made by her grandfather's death 
never left Lizzie's heart. There has been no time 
of darkness and desolation since, when she has not 
felt the old man's hand upon her head, and heard 
his dying voice repeating softly, " only trust Him, 
only trust Him." "A word spoken in due season, 
how good it is!" 

When Mrs. Atherton returned to Yermont, she 


left Lizzie to be a comfort to her Grandmotlier Ward. 
In December, though the weather was so cold that 
the ice had to be cut for the purpose, Lizzie Ather- 
ton was baptized bj Elder John Blain, and joined 
the Baptist church of Auburn. 

She experienced in her early religious life great 
joy in her faith, and it was not a faith which could 
only manifest itself in joy, but one which brought 
forth the fruit of good works. She began at once to 
feel a strong sense of her obligation to the church 
of God, a feeling which has always had its restrain- 
ing influence over her. Her love for the gatherings 
of God's people was no evanescent emotion, strong 
at first and entirely disappearing in a few months, 
but the outgrowth of a (christian conscientiousness, 
which made her duty and her pleasure one and the 
same. This strong religious nature, strengthened 
and directed by her faith in Christ, prevented her 
from feeling the temptations toward worldliness 
that beset some. Even in her girlhood, the theatre 
and kindred pleasures had no attraction for her. 
When invited to attend such places of amusement, 
she always replied, " I do not wish to go; it is not 
consistent with my religious profession." I would 
not present Aunt Lizzie as the one perfect woman 
in the world. No doubt, like us all, she has her 
faults, but in this respect, I would point to her 
shining example, and recommend it to the multi 


tilde of young Christians in our day, who act, alas, 
so often from impulse, rather than from principle 
in matters of recreation. 

Duriui^ this winter she attended the school of 
Miss Miriam Evarts, an earnest Christian lady, un- 
der whose tuition she grew in grace as well as in 

In the spring she returned to Cavendish, accom- 
panied by her Grandmother Ward, who remained 
all summer, on a visit. This grandmother trained 
Lizzie in singing, teaching her many Scotch songs, 
and was much interested in the farm, and the quaint 
old people who helped carry it on. These were Ben 
Cummins and his wife, dignified by the titles of 
Uncle and Auntie, both of them delightful compa- 
ny for the young folks of the family. Uncle Ben 
tended the cattle during the day, but in the eve- 
ning he could be found beside the shop-room fire, 
popping corn for the children and telling long- 
winded stories that never failed to be amusing. 
His wife spun and wove carpets and coverlets, quilt- 
ed and knit, and was as entertaining as she was 

There was also a dairy-woman, called Aunt Hit- 
ty, a precise old maid, whose bonnet strings were 
always tied by rule. Siie was a devoted Christian, 
and very regular in her attendance at church. One 
snowy day she picked her way down a long, snowy 


hill,— -the little foot-stove, that was to be her solace 
during service in the cold church, in her hand. 
Some gaj horses passing by frightened her so much 
that, stepping aside into a drift, she fell. Tlie stove 
flew off in one direction, and her hymn book in an- 
other, her carefully pinned shawl blew away, and 
altogether, for so particular a person, she was in a 
sad plight. Lizzie, like a naughty child, stood by 
and laughed, to the great discomfiture of Aunt 
Hitty, instead of giving her the helping hand, and 
thus gained for herself a long scolding, not only for 
allowing her sense of the ludicrous to get the bet- 
ter of her, but much more for doing so on Sun- 

Lizzie spent the summer of 1831 in Albion, Kew 
York, with the family of her mother's brother, Mr. 
Alexis Ward, It was at first arranged that she 
should remain there during the next winter and at- 
tend the excellent school kept by Miss Phipps, but 
her uncle changed his plans, broke up housekeep- 
ing and went to Europe; so Lizzie returned home. 
This was a source of great regret and of many bit- 
ter tears. Aunt Lizzie feels to this day that her 
usefulness in life might have been greatly increased 
could she have had the advantages of a more ex- 
tended education. But God knows best. He trains 
his children according to the pattern in the mount, 
and fits each one of us for the niche he intends us 


to fill. Greater culture might have polished off the 
edge of that intense sympathy which makes the 
poorest and most degraded snre that Aunt Lizzie 
not only pities, but also sorrows with them. 

After this time Lizzie did not re- visit Auburn. 
She left with much regret the church which had 
given her true christian care. She would no doubt 
have been still more homesick had not the pastor 
of the Cavendish church, Rev. Joseph Freeman, re- 
ceived her with great kindness. He was exceed- 
ingly fond of music and invited Lizzie to enter the 
choir. He often called upon her in the prayer meet- 
ing, by name, to sing some appropriate hymn, and 
thus overcame her timidity. Her love for the church 
led her to join the young ladies' prayer meeting, 
where Mrs. Freeman treated her with tender affec- 
tion, and thus the good pastor and his wife joined 
in training the young girl for her future work. 

Lizzie did not neglect the opportunities for Chris- 
tian labor afforded by her own home. She began 
her work as a missionary among the men and women 
who labored on her father's farm. Her merry ways 
and kind actions opened the way to their hearts, and 
her gentle words of warning and invitation fell 
upon willing ears. Many remembered, years after, 
the scriptures read to them by the little girl, and the 
hymns she delighted to sing. 

When her daughter was about sixteen years old, 


Mrs. Atherton's health failed entirely. During the 
next four years, with the exception of three months, 
the responsibility of caring for the large family came 
upon Lizzie. She devoted herself to her mother, 
shielding her from all unnecessary anxiety. At one 
time, when Mrs. Atherton seemed in a little better 
health, Lizzie was sent to Cavendish to attend the 
New England Academy. She boarded in the vil- 
lage, at a house originally built for an inn, and 
occupied an immense room with seven other girls, 
who, like herself, came to attend school. Once a 
week, when a messenger rode over from the farm 
for the mail, Mrs. Atherton sent Lizzie a basket of 
good things. School girls are always hungry, and 
we can imagine the feasts in the old ball-room, 
when seven girls unloaded the hamper of fresh 
doughnuts, cheese made at the farm, pumpkin and 
mince pies fresh from the oven, apple custards, jugs 
of cream, and great sweet apples. The others came 
from distant places, and did not receive such home 
dainties often, so Lizzie shared with them all, and 
great were the rejoicings. 

But her mother could spare Lizzie for only one 
term. Returning home she found that her pres- 
ence was more necessary than ever. Even for an 
education she would not leave her sick mother to 
bear the burden of the great household, and the 
oversight of the flock of little children, sq she cheer- 


fully put her shoulder to the wheel. It was not a 
work without its reward. The companionship and 
praise of one so dear compensated for every sacri- 
tice, made every labor light. 

Phoebe Gary's portrait of her mother, in her 
" Order for a Picture," paints better than any prose 
could do, Aunt Lizzie's recollection of her's: 

** A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 
Looks down upon, you must paint forme: 
0, if I could only make you see 
The clear blue eyes, the tender smile, 
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace. 
The woman's soul and the angel's face 
That are beaming on me all the while, 
I need not speak these foolish words: 
Yet one word tells you all 1 would say, 
She is my mother: You will agree 
That all the rest may be thrown away." 


LIBRARY ^il^^^ 



The spring in which occurred Lizzie Atherton'a 
twentieth birth-day was one of great bustle and ex- 
citement at the farm. The eldest daughter of the 
family was to be married and leave the dear old 
home, to settle with her husband in what was then 
considered the far West. Grandmother Atherton 
looked over her stores, and selected her choicest 
silver, her old English china, feather-beds, woollen 
quilts and household linen, to start her namesake 
in housekeepiuiJ:. She apparently considered that 
her discipline had been effective, and since Lizzie 
had submitted to her training, she turned around, 
and, like a fairy godmother, showered upon her a 
profusion of gifts. Mr. Atherton also was busy 
selecting carpets and furniture, for were not the 
young couple going to the wilderness of Illinois? 

At last on the second of May, 1837, Lizzie Ather- 
ton was married to Cyrus Aiken. Mr. Aiken was 
nine years older than his bride, a man of a sedate 
turn of mind, and Christian principle, to whose 


keeping her parents were very happy to intrust the 
future of their daughter. 

There was a large family gathering at the wed- 
ding, and wlien Lizzie and her husband left home in 
the afternoon, they were accompanied by several of 
her friends. They rode over in the quaint two- 
wheeled chaises, then in general use, to Mr. Aiken's 
home in Claremont, New Hampshire. It was the 
custom in those days for the family of the bride- 
groom to give a reception and feast called the infare, 
to the bride upon her arrival at her new home- 
Lizzie's infare was held at the house of Mr. Aiken's 
father, built on Sugar Kiver, near the town of Clare- 
mont. The old gentleman was a master builder, 
and had taken great pride in the convenience and 
beauty of his house. He had even finished it off 
with mahogany, even more rare and costly than 
at present. The house stood in a finely cultiva- 
ted place of about forty acres, and was built to 
be the home of the family for generations. But 
shortly before Lizzie's marriage an uncle of Mr. Cy- 
rus Aiken had moved West, and settled on Kock 
Kiver in Illinois. H e wrote home glowing accounts 
of the country, and went so far as to buy eighty 
acres and give it to his nephew, on condition that 
he would come out and settle. The whole family 
caught the "Western fever, and finally the place was 
sold, when they all removed to the West, 


On Lizzie's wedding daj'-, however, these events 
were yet in the fiitnre, and the hirge family were 
gathered together, for the hast time, at the infare. 
Great festivities were hekl, Mr. Aiken being both 
well-to-do and popular, and the day ended with a 
grand reception and supper. 

After remaining in Olareraont a few days, Mr. 
and Mrs. Aiken, following the universal custom of 
New England, made their bridal trip to Boston. 
They went, as there were no raih'oads, by the great 
lumbering stage, making frequent stops for the pur- 
pose of visiting relatives. 

Their stay at Boston lasted only a week, but was 
crowded with pleasure. This was the first time that 
Lizzie had ever seen the sea, and the great ships 
coming from every part of the world. Boston in 
those days had a much more extended commerce 
than now. Then of course they visited that Mecca 
of New England, Bunker Hill, and other places of 
historic interest in the vicinity. 

When they again reached Vermont, they found 
that Lizzie's parents had packed all her goods for 

After a sad parting from her beloved family, and 
one last embrace from her mother, she turned away 
from Cavendish to a life of hardship and trial. 

The party that crossed the mountains in the stage- 
coach for Whitehall, consisted of Lizzie and her 


husband, his father and sister with her two little 
children. Mr. Aiken, senior, came West to spy 
ont the land ; he afterwards settled and died in 
Illinois. The sister came to meet her husband, 
who had already built him a log house on Rock 

At Whiteliall they took the packet on the Erie 
Canal, the great thoroughfare for western bound 
emigrants. If this mode of conveyance has been 
superseded by more speedy modes of travel, it must 
have been to those who had leisure a pleasant way 
of seeing the country. Imagine crossing the State 
of New York by a conveyance that gave one an)ple 
time to investigate and enjoy the beauties of every 
field and hill. Our travelers beguiled the tedium 
of the journey by going ashore to gather wild flow- 
ers, or to make purchases at the villages through 
which tliey passed. 

When at last they reached Buffixlo, they found 
themselves too early for the steanier, and went out 
to Black Rock, a few miles from the city, to visit 
Lizzie's aunt, Mrs. Ann Ward, the widow of her 
uncle Loyal, who had watched with great filial affec- 
tion over the last days of her Grandfather Ward, in 
Auburn. This was Lizzie's last visit among her 
relatives, for a long series of years. Like an out- 
ward-bound vessel, she had left home and passed 
one well-known point after another, till now the last 


familiar headland faded from sight, and she moved 
ont upon the broad expanse of the unknown sea. 
Happy it was for her that she was under the guid- 
ance of a divine Pilot, and that her anchor of hope 
was fastened above. 

And now the trials of the party began. They 
took the old steamer Detroit., for Detroit. She was 
ttot very seaworthy as they soon found, for the sail- 
ors were kept at the pumps during the whole voy- 
age. They encountered a heavy gale, and most of 
the passengers were sick. Lizzie having escaped, 
went from one to anotlier, encouraging them, and 
singing to keep up their spirits. At Detroit they 
were compelled to wait a week for the Michigan^ 
that was to bring them to Chicago. Detroit was 
larger then than Chicago, crowded with emigrants 
and Indians buying and selling. On taking pos- 
session of their rooms in the hotel, our party were 
astonished to find that there were no locks nor other 
fastenings on the doors, a circumstance that greatly 
disturbed them, as they carried their money with 
them in belts sewed around their waists. Lizzie was 
hardly asleep when she was awakened by the light 
of a lantern shining in her face. Starting up, she 
cried, "Who is there?" Two evil-looking men 
mumbled some excuse about having entered the 
wrong room, and went away, only to return in an 
hour or two. After this had happened for the third 


time, she pushed the bed across the door, and slept 
no more till morning. During the rest of their 
stay she barricaded the door every night. 

As they sailed np Lake Michigan, they encoun- 
tered another fearful gale, that drove them into 
Milwaukee. Four of the passengers were shaking 
with ague, so Lizzie turned nurse and hunted up 
the huge medicine chest that her father had fitted 
out for her, a miniature apothecary-shop, full of all 
ill-savored and bitter drugs. They left Milwaukee 
on the morning of a beautiful June day, but at sun- 
down another sudden gale arose and the treacherous 
lake was quickly whipped into fury. All night the 
steamer tossed and groaned, but could not get into 
port. No pen could describe the sorrowful com- 
pany that gathered on her decks in the early morning 
for their first sight of Chicago, the wonderful city 
of 80 many hopes. There it lay before them, a 
little patch of houses on what is now called the 
North Side. As far as eye could reach the prairie 
was crossed by muddy roads, in which loads of 
grain lay stranded like ships in quicksands. 

As the boat reached Chicago early in the morn- 
ing the passengers were allowed no breakfast, and 
it was nine o'clock before the solitary stage of the 
town came down to the landings. Mr. Aiken se- 
cured two places of the four in this rude stage; no 
more were allowed to ride for fear of sinkinof the 


vehicle. All the otlier unfortunates were obliged 
to make their way to the hotel over the plank side- 
walks built on spiles, the water gurgling close un- 
der their feet as they walked. Those who rode, 
however, were no better oif, for hardly liad they 
gone a rod when they found themselves settling 
down into a slough, and there the hungry travelers 
waited till four burly fellows came to the rescue, 
waded in knee-deep, and pried them out. Three 
6uch adventures in a quarter of a mile so discour- 
aged Mr. Aiken, that in spite of all his wife's pro- 
testations he insisted on her getting out and walk- 
ing with him. The natural consequence was that 
they in turn had to be pulled out of the mud, amid 
shouts of laughter from their companions, and to the 
great detriment of Lizzie's brown silk traveling suit. 
Their destination was Grand Detour on Rock 
River. The only way to reach it was by wagon, and 
they found a man who, for a hundred dollars, was wil- 
ling to take them and part of their goods across the 
prairies. The ride was a beautiful one, despite the 
frequent sloughs. The prairies were brilliant with 
blossoms. Rosy, yellow, scarlet and Ti'liite flowers, 
covering acres of ground, intei'spersed among the 
waving grass, gave the country the appearance of a 
vast garden. There were no trees except in the oak 
openings, along the banks of the streams. Under 
the shode of these troves were found the log houses 


of the settlers, bnilt there on account of the shade 
and the vicinity of water. Every man's house was 
an inn, and the emigrants slept on the floors, some- 
times as many as twenty women and children in 
one room, lying on the mattresses and featlier-beds 
they had brought with them. Our party crossed 
Fox River, by fording it, and Lizzie Aiken, being a 
slight little body, weighing but ninety pounds, was 
perched on top of the boxes as they went over. 

When they arrived at Grand Detour, how great 
was their disappointment to find that the village 
they had expected to see had existed only on paper 
and in their own imaginations. In reality there 
were only two or three large log houses, and one in 
process of building for Mr. Cyrus Aiken. In their 
uncle's house, crowded together in two rooms, with 
sometimes as many as twenty-five in the family, 
they began their "Western life. 

After a few weeks the new log house was finished, 
and Mr. Aiken and his wife went to take posses- 
sion. They soon found, however, that they were 
not the first occupants. When they arrived, at sun- 
down, they were too weary to put up beds, but slept 
that night on carpets and comforters laid down on 
the floor of split logs. Waking in the morning, 
Mrs. Aiken saw something crinkling along the side 
of the floor, and glancing in the early sunshine. 
Looking more closely, she saw, to her horror, that 


it was a huge rattlesnake, making himself as much 
at home as if the house had been built for him. 
Their first act of housekeeping was to kill this un- 
welcome guest. This having been accomplished, 
Mrs. Aiken began to prepare such a meal as was 
possible under the circumstances, but when she went 
to the shelves nailed up on the wall, for the bread 
she had brought with her, she found three gophers 
complacently making their breakfast upon it. Cer- 
tainly this was housekeeping under difliculties. 
However, they made a joke of their misfortunes, 
and having disposed of rattlesnake and gophers, 
went to work cheerfully to set the house in order. 
The rude walls were papered, on the puncheon floors 
carpets were laid, and curtains hung at the windows. 
The whole place assumed a cosy look of comfort 
that might have been deemed impossible the day 
before. The garden, planted beforehand, lay di- 
rectly on the bank of Rock River. Indian mounds, 
at that season covered with wild strawberries, were 
scattered all around on the prairies. Lizzie could 
stand in the door and see the trains of emigrant 
wagons crawling along the army trail, half a mile 
distant. The nearest house stood almost a mile 

The gophers were not their only troublesome 
neighbors, as the following incident will show: 
One day, shortly after their arrival, Mr. Aiken in- 


vited two young friends to visit them. His wife of 
course was anxious to be hospitable, and at the same 
time to exhibit her skill as a housekeeper. So she 
stiri-ed up some sponge cake and set it to bake in a 
tin reflector, another contrivance for cooking without 
an oven. Her husband stood looking on while she 
made plnm cake. " What can 1 do to help? " asked 
he. " You might see if the sponge cake is brown- 
ing," was the reply. So, taking the hot, yet half- 
baked cake from the reflector, he suddenly dropped 
it from his burned fingers, and it fell all in a heap. 
Still, Lizzie made the best of it, and said cheerfully: 
•' There is one left." She counted without her host, 
however. The fragrant brown loaf of plum cake 
was put in the window to cool while she set the 
table. Happening to look at her husband, who 
stood at the door, she saw that he was laughing 
most heartily. She missed the cake from the sill, 
and hastened to the window just in time to see a 
long, thin wild hog, called by the settlers a prairie 
rooter, roll down the bank and swim across the 
river, with her warm cake held carefully out of the 
water in his mouth. 

Indeed, she seems to have been unfortunate in 
entertaining company. Some young gentlemen 
who had purchased a claim beyond them, kept 
bachelor's hall during the week, but came down to 
the Aikens' on Sunday, to enjoy the double treat of a 


good talk and a good dinner. One Saturday after- 
noon, when her husband and father were three miles 
away, fencing in a section which they had bought, 
Mrs. Aiken went out to the Indian mounds to 
gather a pailfull of sti-awberries for Sunday's dessert. 
She had left her pantry full of good things, — new 
bread, cakes, pies, all the dainties that taste so agree- 
ably to men who have lived for a week on fried 
pork and crackers. The strawberries were very 
abundant, and she soon returned with a large pail 
full of ripe fruit. To her surprise, she found the 
door open, and on looking in discovered two of the 
tallest Indians she had ever seen, coolly sitting at 
her table, devouring her provisions and drinking 
milk. Greatly frightened, she stood outside the 
door and watched them. They eat like men who 
never expected such a treat again. Mrs. Aiken saw 
with astonishment all her bread disappear, followed 
by loaf after loaf of cake and several pies, until she 
began to fear that they would die. After eating 
enough to supply any two white men for len days, 
they turned and spied her outside the door. She 
tried to say " sago, sago?" — how are you — but in her 
fright used the salutation of another tribe. This 
greatly amused them, and they laughed till the house 
rang. Good-naturedly paying for their supper with 
a couple of large plugs of tobacco, they stalked down 
to the river where they had left their canoe, pushed 


off, and paddled away, leaving their relieved hostess 
to get such provisions as she could to accompany 
her strawberries. 

About this time Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, from 
Michigan, removed to Grand Detour, and settled 
just across the river from the Aikens. Thej were 
young people, married only a few months. Mrs. 
Gardner was a most amiable Christian, and there 
sprang up between these two women, so far from 
any society, a strong friendship. During the long 
winter their husbands were away, weeks at a time, 
getting out logs. Rock River, frozen solid as a 
floor, was easily crossed, and so they fell into the 
habit of spending alternate weeks with each other, 
comforting one another through the lonely days and 
nights. Together they prayed, together sang the 
songs of a better land, when for days not a solitary 
traveler could be seen passing along the trail, and 
the lights in the windows of their distant neighbors 
flickering through the falling snow or shining 
steadily on calm evenings, were the only signs of 
living creatures on the vast prairie. 

But at the end of March, when the ice was 
breaking up in the river, rendering it almost im- 
passable, word came that Mrs. Gardner was dead. 
Little had the two friends thought as they held 
such loving intercourse, that in a few short weeks 
the one should be taken, and the other left to jour- 
ney on for years. 


Hers was the first funeral in Grand Detour, 
When thej laid her to rest under the leafless oaks 
of the grove, the whole community for miles around 
came together. Over her grave they sang sweet, 
wailing China, thoughts of their own distant homes 
and hers giving the notes a power and pathos never 
lieard except in tlie wilderness. 

On the twenty-eighth of April a little boy, whom 
they named Charlie, was born to the Aikens, fill- 
ing their hearts with new joy and thankfulness. 

But the next winter brought sorrow enough. 
One day in October, Mr. Aiken came home very 
ill. All their relatives were at that time on the 
other side of the river, so Mrs. Aiken was entirely 
alone with him. He soon became delirious, and 
she did not dare to leave him long enough to run 
for help. Three days she watched the trail, hoping 
to see some passing neighbor, but it was not until 
the afternoon of the third day that she was reward- 
ed by the sight of a solitary horseman. She flew 
to the door, calling loudly and shaking a table- 
cloth to attract his attention. But when he came, 
he knew no more than she what to prescribe, though 
her great medicine chest stood by full of drugs. 
They feared to do harm by selecting the wrong 
medicine, so Mrs. Aiken was forced to be content 
with sending for a neighbor, an old lady, who 
came next day on horseback, and dealt out huge 


doses of calomel and jalap, while waiting for the 
doctor to arrive from Dixon. 

When after seven long weeks, Mr. Aiken was 
able to ride out a short distance, he was met on 
his return by his wife, who cried, " Oh, Cyrus, I 
fear our darling baby is dying," and entering the 
house found the poor child strangling with croup. 
Neighbors were summoned, only to see little 
Charley die, as he lay on his mother's lap, the 
next morning. In her great sorrow her heart went 
up to God, and as she seemed to feel the hand of 
her grandfather laid on her head, she cried, " I 
can only trust Him, and give up my darling." 
Little Charlie, seven months old, lies buried on the 

In 1838, Lizzie's Grandmother Ward died, and 
left all her household effects to her favorite grand- 
daughter. She had come in her youth, from Scot- 
land, and possessed many family relics in the shape 
of old silver salvers as well as bread and fruit dishes 
of the same precious material. These, together with 
her table silver, rare china, and table and bed linen, 
fragrant with lavender, were carefully packed up 
and forwarded to the West. But, by the same fatal- 
ity that has followed all Aunt Lizzie's earthly pos- 
sessions, these treasures never reached her. The 
boat by which they were sent, was burned on Lake 
Erie and her whole cargo lost. 


In March, 1839, the Aikens' second child was 
born and named George. In May they removed to 
their new house, having lived less than two years 
in the old one. This new home was about three 
miles from the other, but on the prairie, away from 
the river. In haste to be where Mr. Aiken could give 
proper care to their crops, they moved in before the 
house was plastered, or the glass set in the windows. 
The family was very large, including a number of 
men, busy fencing and ditching. Under the pres- 
sure of this heavy work, added to the care of her 
little child, Mrs. Aiken's health entirely failed, and 
she was for months confined to her bed. Service 
could not be procured for money, but girls were 
tempted to come and work during the summer by 
the offer of payment in clothing. At the time of 
their greatest need, a young woman, who was to be 
married in the autumn came to help keep house, 
stipulating that she should receive Mrs. Aiken's 
wedding dress and ornaments as wages. Money 
was no consideration, but silk dresses such as were 
bought in Boston could not be procured in all the 

Three miles away at Daysville, lived an aged 
physician. Dr. Roe, who, together with his wife, be- 
came greatly interested in the poor invalid and her 
beautiful boy. The good doctor carefully conveyed 
them on a mattress to his house, and his wife gave 


them the best of nursing. This chano^e was a blessed 
one for Lizzie Aiken. Though at first practically 
bed-ridden, she gradually improved. The doctor 
was a Methodist class-leader, and the only religious 
meetings of the place were held at his house. There 
were many who attended these gatherings and Mrs. 
Aiken was most happy to meet once more with 
Christians in their weekly services. Hitherto her 
only attendance at church had been when occasion- 
ally they could ride ten miles to Dixon. Her Sun- 
days were spent in reading the Bible through and 
through. The religious papers, the old Boston 
"Reflector " and the New York " Register, "which 
were sent her from the East, were almost learned 
by heart and then lent to the neighbors. The set- 
tlers were at first too scattered to admit of having 
prayer meetings, and the only communion she en- 
joyed with the saints was by letters written on 
Sunday to the good old deacons who had cared for 
her religious life in childhood, and other Christian 
friends. Of these letters none remain, but the 
answers to a few are still preserved, which show how 
these widely separated friends poured out the wine 
of their Christian experience for each other's benefit. 
Mrs. Aiken's health improved so rapidly from the 
rest and good care which she enjoyed at Dr. Roe's, 
that early in the autumn she was able to return 
home. She found that several families had settled 


around them; everywhere new houses were to be 
seen, in which people were living with unplastered 
walls, and partitions made hy carpets hung between 
the rooms. Among these was a family named Cun- 
ningham. Mrs. Cunningham proved a most delight- 
ful neighbor. She had a large family, six sons and 
two daughters, little girls of eight and ten years; 
but with all her cares found time to visit and com- 
fort her sick neighbor. Whenever "little Mrs. 
Aiken," as she was affectionately styled in the set- 
tlement, was able to ride out, Mrs. Cunningham was 
always ready to take her. Her little daughters, Mary 
and Caroline, also devoted themselves to the invalid. 
Never were they happier than when they could run 
over and play with the baby, or sit on Sunday after- 
noons, one on each side of their friend, and sing 
the songs she taught them. There was no Sunday- 
school, but Mrs. Aiken began her first "girls' meet- 
ing," with these two attendants; she instructed 
them in the Bible, reading and teaching them verses. 
These children became thus one of the greatest com- 
forts of her life, diverting her mind from her weak- 
ness and pain. 

Out on the prairie little Charlie's grave grew 
green, but had nothing as yet to distinguish it from 
the newer hillocks that began to cluster around it. 
His fond mother often thought that it would be 
sweet to have some link between her darling's grave 


and the dear old New England home. Her father, 
knowing this desire, sent her, packed in the centre 
of a barrel of home comforts, a tiny rooted plant of 
the same sweet briar that perfumed the garden at 
Cavendish. This little rosebush, with only three 
sweet leaves, planted with care, and watered by a 
mother's tears, grew in time to overshadow the 
grave and fill the air with the fragrance of the New 
England hills, so dear to the heart of every wander- 
ing son and daughter of that beautiful though bar- 
ren land. 

The next summer there came to Grand Detour a 
young Baptist student of theology, named Wicki- 
zer, spending his vacation in preaching as colporter, 
among the scattered sheep in the wilderness. A 
sturdy, black-eyed youth from among the Pennsyl- 
vania Dutchmen, he labored hard to gather the 
Baptists into churches. At Grand Detour he found 
six or eight, but they thought it better to hold their 
membership with the church at Dixon, ten miles 
away, than to organize themselves into a feeble 
church, too weak to sui:)port itself. Mrs. Aiken, al- 
ways hungry for the truth, gathered the neighbors 
together in her house, and Mr. "Wickizer preached 
to them several times before he went on his way. 
These were the first services held by the Baptists in 
Grand Detour. 

The Antumn of 1841 was a time of great sufier- 


iug and sorrow. There was much sickness through- 
out the settlement and many died. Among these 
was little Georgie Aiken, who was buried beside 
his brother, leaving his mother again childless, 
weeping for her children and not to be comforted, 
save by that consolation which God himself be- 
stows upon the desolate. To tins affliction were 
added trials of a difi'erent kind. Through the dis- 
honesty of those in whom he trusted, Mr. Aiken 
•lost a section of land which he had pre-empted, and 
the house that he had built upon it. So that in six 
weeks from the time that they buried their darling 
baby, the Aiken s were obliged to leave the home 
made doubly precious by the memories of his short, 
but lovely life. They concluded to leave the place 
where they had been so deeply wronged, and to re- 
move to Peoria. Mrs. Aiken's beloved friend, Mrs. 
Cunningham, accompanied them as far as Dixon, 
where they parted from each other with sobs and 

The last of December, little Henry was born to 
gladden the hearts of his parents for a short period. 
Since they had come to Peoria, the Aikens had been 
living in hired rooms, a circumstance that had 
greatly distressed Mrs, Aiken, as she had always 
been taught that money paid for rent was so much 
thrown away. Hearing in the early spring of a 
cottage for sale, she took the earliest opportunity 


of seeing it. She found a pretty white honse with 
green blinds, adorned with vines and surrounded by 
trees. Stepping into a neighbor's to inquire about 
the place, she made the acquaintance of a Moravian 
lady, whose motherly kindness and family of lovely 
children attracted Mrs. Aiken quite as much as did 
the pretty cottage. Finding the house to be all that 
she desired, she persuaded her husband to buy it. 
Her neighbor, Mrs, Banvard, proved to be the 
mother she looked, and watched over her with 
affectionate care. 

As soon as she was able, Mrs. Aiken sought out 
the little Baptist church, then under the pastoral 
care of the Rev. A. M. Gardner, which held its ser- 
vices at this time in the Court House, and numbered 
forty-two members. Here, as has always been her 
custom on removing to a new place, she put in her 
letter at the first opportunity. 

In 1844, Mr. Aiken, being prospered in business, 
moved back the white cottage in which they had 
hitherto lived, and built a large brick house in front 
of it, occupying the house before it was finished. 
The dampness, incident to the fresh plastering, 
brought on a fit of illness which prostrated him 
greatly, and little Henry died about the same time. 
In her grief, his bereaved mother turned with more 
eagerness than before to the church for consolation. 
She found comfort in entering into more active 


service and working for the cliurcli of God. At 
this time slie took a class in the Sunday scliool. 
The superintendent, David Irons, with his wife, had 
removed but a short time before to Peoria, from 
Albion, New York. Mrs. Aiken had known them 
from childhood and she welcomed them with great 
joy. The past acquaintance was eagerly renewed, 
and Mrs. Irons became the intimate friend of Mrs. 

Everything connected with their own church and 
denomination has always been very near to hearts 
the most catholic in their sympathies, just as the 
broadest love for hnmanity at large has never pre- 
vented those exercising it from being especially 
tender of their own families. And thus without 
the slightest narrowness in her intercourse with 
Christians of other names. Aunt Lizzie has al- 
ways been firm and true in her own faith. As she 
lierself says, " I love my own denomination, and 
would love it even though it should contain a mil- 
lion hypocrites." 

During the years of their residence at Peoria she 
and her husband thought it no hardship to attend 
the commencements of Shurtleff College, at Alton, 
though they were obliged to ride over an hundred 
miles in their carriage. While they were still build- 
ing their house, the General Baptist State Associa- 
tion met at Peoria. The Baptists in the town were 


fow, and Mrs. Aiken, delighted with the opportn- 
nity to do even more than her share, entertained 
eleven of tlie ministers, even thongh she had beds 
for but few of them. A Large room in the nntin- 
ished honse was fitted up with mattresses and 
qnilts, and was turned into a most comfortable bed- 
room for the pioneers who came up to the meetings. 
Mrs. Aiken herself, according to her custom divi- 
ded her time between leading the singing at all the 
meetings and helping cook grand dinners for her 

In 1845, Mrs. Aiken went home to Cavendish for 
a few weeks to be tenderly nursed back to strength 
by her devoted father and mother. "While she was 
away, her husband sold the house which he had 
barely finished, for half that it was worth. The 
malady that had haunted him all his life, began to 
make itself manifest. From this time, he gradual- 
ly lost the power to attend to his business affairs. 
His brain had been slightly affected for some time, 
though his brave little wife had steadily closed her 
eyes to a hundred things that might have warned 
her of some such trouble ahead. But now, with 
utter obliviousness of the result, he disposed of his 
property for almost nothing; and from living in 
comfort and prosperity, Mrs. Aiken was gradually 
reduced to poverty. Still she clung to her husband, 
refusing to believe it more than some passing 


trouble, and struggled to keep together the prop- 
erty that was still left. 

In 1846 the church edifice, erected through the 
most unwearied exertions on the part of both pastor 
and people, was dedicated. I copy a little para- 
graph from a later record, that gives Mrs. Aiken's 
share in the transaction: 

" Aunt Lizzie Aiken set the example to other 
ladies of the church in asking subscriptions to the 
cause; and it is related that she purchased the first 
pair of curtains for one of the windows, with money 
earned by her own hand in sewing." 



In April, of 1847, Mr. Aiken having become rest- 
less and tired of Peoria, gathered up what remained 
of his property, and bought a farm of eighty acres 
on the State Road to Iowa, twenty miles from Peo- 
ria, and near a little village called Brimiield. His 
wife had worked very hard during the winter. She 
had tried to save what she could, and to earn money 
by keeping a house full of boarders. Of course the 
thought of quitting the city was a welcome one to 
her, brought up as she had been to love the free lite 
of the country; and she entered gladly into the ar- 
rano^ements for movins'. It seems to have been her 
destiny to begin housekeeping in unfinished houses. 
At Brimfield, although the farm was all under cul- 
tivation, there were but two rooms in their dwell- 
ing ready for use. Mrs. Aiken took up with great 
delight the work of fitting up the house and adorn- 
ing the place, overseeing the setting out of many 
fruit and shade trees, and the planting of a garden. 

The village of Brimfield had been settled almost 
5 (49) 


exclusively by New Englanders, who gladly wel- 
comed a Vermont family among tliem. Mrs. Aiken 
immediately commenced here the missionary labors 
that had occupied so much of her time at Peoria. 
Young as she still was, she had been sought out by 
both pastor and people to visit the sick, look after 
the poor, and lay out the dead. A peculiar gift of 
sympathy and helpfulness was recognized in her 
by all. 

When Mrs. Aiken first went to Brimfield there 
were no churches in the place. Union meetings 
were held in the school house, which were sustained 
by Christians of whatever name. Mrs. Aiken 
greatly missed her own church, which of course she 
could attend only occasionally. Dr. Henry AYes- 
ton, now President of Crozier Theological Seminary, 
but then pastor of the Peoria church, met a friend 
who inquired after Mrs. Aiken, and asked " what 
will she do in Brimfield without her church?'' 
" Give yourself no uneasiness on that score," was 
the answer, " she will have a church in a short time." 
The prophesy proved to be true, though the way 
in which it was fulfilled could certainly have been 
anticipated by no one. 

After awhile, the Congregationalists became strong 
enoutjh to withdraw from the meeting's at the school- 
house, and form a church of their own. Mrs. Ai- 
ken was at once invited to take a class in their Sun- 


daj-scliool. Ten girls were placed under her care, 
and became greatly attached to their teacher. Not 
content with visiting them at their homes, and 
teaching them on Sunday Mrs, Aiken used them 
as the nucleus of a girls' meeting, and invited all the 
young girls in the neighborhood to meet with them 
at her liouse to sing and pray. 

Though teaching in the Congregational Sunday- 
school, Mrs. Aiken had told her class, in answer 
to their questions, that she was a Baptist. One 
Sunday, after morning service, one of these j^oung 
ladies came to her and said she would like to 
introduce to her her father and mother, who were 
present. The father expressed great pleasure at 
meeting Mrs. Aiken, saying that he had never 
hoped to meet a Baptist again. They had left 
Pennsylvania almost two years before, where their 
parents were members of the Baptist church, and 
had never happened to fall in with any members of 
that denomination in their journeyings. An invi- 
tation to dinner was gladly accepted, and all rode 
over to the farm. 

After dinner these new-made friends held a 
prayer- meeting together, and the Baileys told their 
Christian experience — how they loved the Lord, but 
had never yet united with any church. They also 
said that they were Baptists and wished to connect 
themselves with a church of that faith. Mrs. Aiken 


gladlj undertook to aid them in the matter. She 
wrote to Dr. Weston, telling him the circumstances, 
and at the time of the next covenant meeting of his 
church, took her friends in her carriage twenty 
miles to Peoria, where they were received by the 
church, and baptized the next day in Peoria lake. 
Mrs. Aiken joyfully told her pastor that now God 
had provided a deacon for the Baptist church that 
was to be in Brimfield. 

A few months after this, the pastor of the Meth- 
odist church. Rev. Lewis Atkinson, came to Mrs. 
Aiken for counsel. He told her that he was troub- 
led about his baptism; that he had come to think 
the Baptists were riglit in their views of that ordi- 
nance, and ended by asking what she considered 
his duty to be ? Pier answer, as might have been 
expected, was that in view of his convictions, all 
that he could do was to arise and be baptized. 
Shortly after, Dr. "Weston came out and baptized 
him, and thus a pastor was provided for the little 
Baptist church of Brimfield. 

But before the church was organized much work 
had to be done. Mrs. Aiken planned her house- 
hold affairs so that she had leisure to visit all the 
afternoon in the interests of the new church. Bid- 
ing round the county on horseback, she found four- 
teen Baptists with church letters laid carefully away, 
whom she easily persuaded to join in the enterprise. 


In the meantime, they held services in the school- 
house, with occasional preaching bj that sterling 
old pioneer and faithful servant of God, Rev. Joel 
Sweet. He was pastor of a small country church 
at Lamoille, and came over to Brimtield whenever 
he could. He gave them the pure word of God 
without money and without price, never receiving 
anything for his services except an occasional tur- 
key or piece of pork. About 1850, the church, the 
result of many prayers and much labor, was formed. 
God prospered it greatly, and gave it favor in the 
community. Nor did Mrs. Aiken cease praying 
after the church was fully organized, but on Satur- 
day afternoons used to finish up her work, and then 
run over to the house of her friend and neighbor, 
Mrs. Deborah Alden, that they might together pray 
for its prosperity. This they did for two years. 

Nor did her own little church monopolize all of 
Mrs. Aiken's heart. She kept open house for all 
Baptist travelers, so that her house was called the 
Baptist tavern. She and her husband took turns in 
attending the meetings of the local association. 
When it was her turn to stay at home, Mrs. Aiken 
entertained the delegates as they passed to and from 
the meetings. Sometimes the party was so large 
that it was necessary to serve the meals in the open 
air. The barn doors were taken off and used as 
tables. Under the locust trees the hungry travelers 


were thus regaled with the products of the farm, 
and with fruit from the orchard. 

Iler house at Brimfield was a source of great pride 
and pleasure to Mrs, Aiken. It was so conveniently 
fitted up, and suited her so well in every way. But 
it was taken from her in a moment. As she walked 
home from prayer-meeting with lier husband, on 
the evening of the ninth of September,1851, they 
saw that a severe thunder storm was gathering all 
around the sky, and hastened into the house lest 
the rain should overtake them. But secure as they 
felt under their own roof, it proved an ineffectual 
shelter. The storm came nearer and nearer, the 
lightning grew more blinding at every flash, till 
about ten o'clock the tempest culminated just over 
their heads. The neighbors, watching its progress 
saw a ball of fire fall from the clouds and strike the 
chimney, and then scatter all over the roof. Those 
within the house were thrown to the floor. On re- 
covering her senses, Mrs. Aiken looked up and saw 
that the roof was gone. With trembling limbs 
they fled to the barn for safety, and when the storm 
was a little abated, to the house of their neighbor, 
Mr. Alden. The shock rendered Mrs. Aiken speech- 
less for several liours, and it was a year before she 
entirely recovered her liearing. 

On going to the house they found every pane of 
glass broken, every lock and piece of metal melted, 


even to the wheels of tlie clock. The framework 
of the building was all tliat was left, and that was 
severely shaken. Several of their neighbors offered 
them a home for the winter, but they preferred to 
fit lip a new barn with some comforts to make it 
habitable till the house could be re-built. In the 
spring they entered the re-made dwelling, but the 
beauty of the house was gone. It was quite inferior 
to what it had been at first, and Mr. Aiken's failing 
health cut off all hope of ever improving it. 

In the winter of 1851 there came from the East 
a family that at once enlisted the affectionate sym- 
pathy of Mrs. Aiken. Mr. Chas. Day brought his 
invalid wife, whose dark eyes and silken hair con- 
trasted painfully with her pallid cheeks, to Brim- 
field, in the vain hope of restoring her once more 
to health. Her Christian fortitude in bearing her 
sufierings appealed even more than her appearance 
to the heart of one who had herself passed through 
much sickness. Mrs. Aiken made herself truly 
their neighbor, and when, at midwinter, the re- 
deemed spirit went home to heaven, the mourning 
husband and his two little girls turned to her for 

When spring came, Mr. Daj' resolved to take 
his motherless children to their grandmother, and 
invited Mrs. Aiken to accompany them. The little 
church, at this time numbering eighteen souls, also 


wished her to <^o, that she might interest their 
Eastern brethren in the place of worship that they 
had determined to build. She undertook the task, 
but without great success, as she only raised about 
a hundred dollars. 

While at the East, Mrs. Aiken went to Cavendish 
to visit her own family. Expected by no one, she 
drove up to her father's house, and entered without 
meeting a soul to recognize her. Softly opening 
the sitting-room door, she saw her father piling 
wood on the fire. Her whole soul filled with sor- 
row and longing, she rushed into his arms, as he 
turned with surprise toward hei*, and bursting into 
a flood of tears, cried like Naomi, " Oh Father, 
Father, here 1 am ; you sent me out full, but I 
always return empty." 

Brothers and sisters came home to meet her. 
Together they sat down at the table, all there for 
the first time in many years. A secret pang of 
sorrow stole over the heart that held them all so 
dear, and Lizzie could not suppress her tears. Her 
father observing her emotion, asked, 

"My daughter, pray what is the matter?" 

" Dear father," was the reply, " shall we ever all 
meet again?" 

" This foreshadowing of the future, which indeed 
proved to be only too true, quite checked the flow 
of conversation, and spoiled the dinner. But one 


of the sisters turned the tide into another channel. 
This was lioxy, who had just graduated from school, 
and was eager to see something of the world beyond 
the hills of Vermont. 

"Lizzie," she cried, "dry up your tears; I'm 
going home with you to spend a year, and make 
you happy! may I not, father?" she added, turning 
to him where he sat, distressed at Lizzie's emotion, 

" My child," he answered, " I will decide for your 
brother, who wishes to go, but your mother must 
decide for you." 

It was not very hard to win over the gentle 
mother to consent to anything which should in- 
crease the happiness of her daughters, and the 
house was soon topsy-turvy, preparing Roxy for 
her visit. It was deemed necessary to make her a 
complete wardrobe foK the entire year, as she was 
just stepping out of her school-girl life. 

On the third of May, they finally started for the 
West. They began the journey by riding over to 
Proctersville to take dinner with their sister Sarah. 
The whole family was again present with many of 
the relatives, nine carriage loads having accom- 
panied the travelers thus far. The forebodings of 
the former occasion had melted away in joy, that 
Roxy was going "West, but alas! it was Roxy, so 
young, so beloved, who was to return no more. 

The journey to B.rimfield was most delightful; 


everything conspired to make it pleasant. Mrs. 
Aiken, happy in the prospect of her sister's com- 
panionship, could not refrain from often taking her 
by the hand and assuring her of her love and her 
wonder that their parents had permitted her to take 
away their darling. 

At Peoria they were met by Mr. Aiken, w^ho took 
them out to Brimfield. It was a merry ride over 
the prairies, now green with the springing crops and 
gay with early flowers. Arrived at home, they found 
a company of the young people of the place gather- 
ed to meet them, eager to see the young girl and 
her brother, in whom they hoped to find so great an 
accession to their society. All were happy, and all 
expected yet more happiness. Alas ! the elder sister 
who followed Roxy everywhere with admiring eyes, 
in eleven days, just eleven days, saw her die. We 
will let her tell the sad story as she wrote it to her 
stricken parents. 

Brimfield, May 24tli, 1852. 
My Dear Father and Mother: 

What shall I say to you ? How shall I attempt to console you 
under the afflicting hand of Providence? God has truly dealt 
mysteriously with me, your child. My dear sister Roxy sleeps 
the sleep of death. How little did we anticipate such an event 
when we parted. The ways of Providence are truly most in- 
scrutable, but they are nevertheless all wrought in infinite wis- 
dom, for God doeth all things well. 

She died on Friday morning just as the clock was striking 
nine. She was sick four days. ****** She never 


seemed to know anything after the first day. About the mid- 
dle of the day, she roused up and looked at me. I burst into 
tears, and told her I was so glad she knew me. She raised her 
hands. I leaned down over her, and she kissed me so affection- 
ately. Oh, Roxy, how dear thou wert tome! ****** 
How strange that in so short a time she should become so in- 
terwoven with my destiny. But she was so kind, so affection- 
ate, so good, so in every point what I wished and what I loved, 
that I do not believe that in the short time we were together, 
I had one thought for the future with which she was not con- 
nected, or one ambition, hope or wish but Roxy was in some 
way to be the recipient. I feel bereaved indeed and sad and 
desolate. ****** Is it true that I shall never see 
her face again? Oh, how unreconciled I am! Was there ever 
grief like mine? My father, my mother, I have, I feel that I 
have inflicted a wound in your heart that time can never heal in 
bringing your dear child, my dear sister, here so far from you 
to die. 

Her garments all bans up just as she left them. Her wood- 
en trunk has all her little treasures just as she put them away 
herself. I shall not have them touched. ****** 
How soon was my cup of joy dashed down ! How are my hopes 
blasted ! I loved her to idolatry. ****** 

These outpourings of a sister's broken heart have 
been copied to show how great was the aifection 
that had been lavished on Roxy. There are pages 
more in the same strain, which hav^e but one 
thought — "■ liow I loved her and now she is dead !'* 
Still rioxy suffered but little during the four daj^s 
of her illness ; she was insensible most of the time, 
and her last hours are most fittingly described by 
Hood's exquisite lines : 


*' We watched her breathing through the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. " 

" Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept. 

And sleeping when she died." 

*' For when the morn came dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. " 

Tliey buried her in a pleasant place on a higli 
rolling prairie. They made her grave where the 
grassy sod had as yet been unturned, for hers was 
the first burial in the village church )^ard. The 
sweet-briar at the old farm in Cavendish was des- 
poiled of yet another slip to shed its scented leaves 
where she lies, and every June the small fragrant 
roses, which she loved as a child, blow and fade 
above her grave, while delicate blossoms of the prai- 
rie violet and the purple oxalis blend their soft 
mourning colors with the grass that waves over her. 

Poor Mr. Aiken was heart-broken; he required 
consolation himself, and had to be comforted like a 
child. It was to her brother that Mrs. Aiken turned 
for advice. He reasoned with her, reminded her of 
the many merciful circumstances connected with 
the event, and brought her gradually back to be her 


own cheerful self. It was in this trying hour that 
the religion of Jesus Christ showed its power. 
Though at first Mrs. Aiken could not rise above 
the question, " Lord, why is it thus?" yet in the same 
breath she said, " Hedoeth all things well." Surely 
the Lord has led her through great and sore troubles 
that she may be able to feel for and comfort others. 
So great an impression has this sorrowful time made 
upon her, that to this day she cannot speak of it 
without tears. 

Soon after Roxy's death there was a revival in 
the little Brimfield church, and again Mrs. Aiken 
found that working for Jesus was the most wonder- 
ful healer of her sorrows. To a mind so given to 
dwelling upon the past in its minutest particulars, 
and a heart so persistent in its love of kindred, an 
afflii tion of this kind might have proved an incur- 
able wound, which might have spoiled all the re- 
maining years of life, had it not been for the religion 
of Jesus. Christ, by giving His child something to 
do, drew her thoughts from herself, and restored that 
cheerful temper which is her most characteristic 

It was well that she had something to occupy her 
thoughts outside her home, for though she did not 
see the impending trouble as clearly as did her 
friends, she could but perceive that her husband's 
health, and especially his mental powers, were fail- 


ing. Many were the sleepless niglits she spent 
thinking over the clouded present, and the dark 
future. Her parents suggested that it would be 
best for her to break up house-keeping, but she 
clung to her home. If she left that what should 
she do? Her brother still continued to live at her 
house, and so long as she had his strong arm to 
lean on, she could manage to keep the place in or- 
der. Gradually, however, matters grew worse; the 
farm was first rented and then sold. A few acres 
and the house were all that were left, and even this 
could with difficulty be retained. 

In September, 1854, a little child was born, but 
he never responded to his mother's loving kiss. 
He came like a flower, the joy of a moment, born 
only to be buried by the side of his Aunt Roxy. 
Another such grief coming just at this time well 
nigh crushed Mrs. Aiken. But God provided an 
antidote. One of her intimate friends had just died 
in Peoria, leaving a sweet baby, only a few days 
old. This motherless cliild was brought to the 
childless mother, who took him at once to her bo- 
som and her heart. She cared for him as her own 
child, and amid all her privations and trials, kept 
him with her for ten years. At the end of that 
time his father took him home, but only for a few 
months, as he died when in his eleventh year. 

The next spring Mr. Ward Atherton bought a 


farm in southern Illinois, and moved away from 
Brimfield. This left his sister very lonely. Hith- 
erto she had relied on him, but now there was no 
one to assist her, Mr. Aiken had become almost 
like a little child, needing all the care she conld give 
him. Their property had wasted away, and she had 
no power to provide for her family so long as her 
time was fully occupied in caring for her husband. 
Before he left, Mr. Atherton wrote an account of 
the state of Mrs. Aiken's affairs to his father, and 
urged him to come himself to look after the inter- 
ests of his daughter. It was however, some months 
before he arrived, and in the meantime she bore a 
load of care and sorrow. One day in the late 
autumn, disturbed by the lowing of the cattle, she 
went to the barn and found the poor creatures al- 
most starved to death. Mr. Aiken had forgotten 
to feed them. After this she attended to their wants 
herself, and often waded through the snow to tend 
them. Many were the bitter tears she shed, look- 
ing at her husband as he sat sleeping in his chair 
by the tire, with no more forethought nor sense of 
responsibility than an infant. Still she clung to 
him, determined to stand by him to the last, and 
never forsake her trust. But when her father came 
• in February, he saw that her health was rapidly 
failing under the double burden of taking care of 
the place, and worrying over the condition of her 


husband, and he insisted that she sliould make some 
arrangement, bj which she might be relieved from 
this crushing responsibility. He offered to take 
her husband to Cavendish and provide for him. 
Mrs. Aiken could not, at first, endure the idea, but 
at last overpowered by the judgment of her father, 
the remonstrances of her friends, and her own con- 
viction that they were right, she gave way. She 
herself says, " God only knows the anguish it cost 
me to feel that I was never more to have a home. 
In distress and tears I sought God, and finally he 
spoke to me, while on my knees, so plainly that I 
could not mistake, that this must be for my hus- 
band's sake, for that of my relatives and my own. 
The decision was made between God and myself, 
and I sliall always feel that I did right. " 

Mr. Atherton's business called him home the 
first of March, and he left his daughter to settle up 
her household matters preparatory to giving up 
housekeeping. Hardly had he reached Yer- 
mont, when he was taken ill, and before the end of 
March, died. We give Mrs. Aiken's letter to her 
mother, written on receipt of the news of her be- 
loved father's death. 

Brimfield, March 30th, 1856. 
My dear and honored Mother: 

Your letter filled with tidings of woe came last eveuing. 
Dear Mother, it is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth Him good. 


Cannot you say so? Even now when the hand of God is most 
heavily laid upon you, cannot you kiss the hand that smites? 
Your husband sleeps the sleep of death, but mother, your 
Redeemer lives, and has He not said " Because I live, ye shall 
live also?" He has dealt mysteriously with you; may it not be 
to lead you to call on Him? Commit your grief into the hands 
of God — then will He enter into a still more endearing relation 
toward you. " Thy Maker shall be thy husband." The gospel 
of the Son of God with its glorious hopes, its rich promises and its 
bright anticipations, can alone minister true consolation under 
circumstances such as yours, my dear mother. The time is 
short; you will soon go to father. Your dear Roxy you will 
meet there too. * * * * From my heart do I feel myself 
bound to minister t« the comfort of you now, my dear and 
widowed mother. 

Our goods are all packed up and I am in great confusion, but 
will write soon again. Cyrus is worse: I feel sad indeed. 

Your affectionate child, 


Thus did the same person who poured forth such 
floods of passionate sorrow over the death of her 
sister, restrain herself when called to part with tlie 
father who had always been so indulgent to her. 
Especially at this time of perplexity and darkness, 
when she hardly knew which way to turn, the re- 
moval of her chief friend and adviser must have 
been a great blow. But true to her nature, she puts 
her own sorrow aside, and addresses herself solely 
to the comfort of one even more bereft. " I feel 
sad indeed," she says, " Cyrus is worse, my father 
is dead, my brother has left me, my property ia 


gone; I am virtually alone in the world, without 
husband, father or home." But she said, with Da- 
vid, " In the multitude of my thoughts within me, 
Thy comforts delight my soul;" and bravely took 
up her broken life, to struggle on for the glory of 
God and the good of her fellow men. 

Previous to leaving Brimfield she wrote to Mrs. 
Irons, in Peoria, giving an account of her circum- 
stances. That faithful friend replied at once : 
"Come to me; my home is your home, so long as 
I live." So on the tenth of April Mrs. Aiken locked 
the door of lier house in Brimiield, and left it for- 
ever. Her brother had come to take her husband 
East, and he drove her with her little adopted son 
over to Peoria. It was a lovely spring morning; 
the sun shone down on the familiar scene like a 
benison. It was hard to go and leave the house she 
had built, the trees she had planted, every pleasant 
little nook she knew so well. As they reached a 
turn in the road which should shut her old home 
from sight, she entreated her brother to stop. He 
did not wish her to look back, but she besought him 
to let her do so. She stood up in the carriage and 
cast one long, lingering look behind. She knew 
that she should never have another home; she saw, 
as with a prophetic glance, the long, lonely road 
which she must travel, and gave herself wholly up 
to the will of God. Once more she felt the hand of 


her dying grandfather laid on her head, and heard 
the faltering voice repeating, " Only trust Him — 
only trust Him." The sad yet constant heart 
responded, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust 

For a few weeks, she took the rest, so necessary 
to her wearied body and still more weary heart, with 
her beloved friend, Mrs. Irons, and then turned to 
face alone the stern realities of life. Her husband's 
improvidence had involved him seriously in debt. 
This indebtedness Mrs. Aiken resolutely determin- 
ed to pay by her own exertions, besides providing 
for herself and her adopted child. Her widowed 
mother was unable to help her farther than by tak- 
ing charge of her husband, so she was obliged to 
look about her for some means of gaining a liveli- 
hood. Her Ion a; and faithful labors as a Christian 
woman, came to her aid in this extremity. Her 
friends knew how gentle her hand was in minister- 
ing to the sick, and proposed to her that she should 
devote herself to such ministrations. During four 
years she went from house to house, soothing the 
aching head, caring for mothers and their babes, 
doins all with such affectionate interest and unob- 
trusive sympathy, that wherever she stayed all the 
family became her firm friends. In this way she 
paid all the debts of her husband, and still with her 
accustomed, lavish generosity, gave away consider- 


able money. The following incident will illnstrate 
this propensity to help all the suffering at her own 

An Eastern lady, visiting in Peoria, became 
deeply interested in Mrs. Aiken, and said to her that 
she might easily make money by the sale of a pat- 
ent medicine which she considered excellent. She 
proved her friendship by giving her fifty dollars' 
worth. To this Mrs. Aiken added fifty dollars from' 
her own little store, and started out to make her 
fortune. But for her to live was to give; every sick 
widow or sewing-girl who needed the medicine 
had a bottle without money and without price. It 
naturally followed that when the accounts were 
squared up, she had a balance on hand of only twen- 
ty-five dollars. With difficulty she procured more 
money and started anew. But her fresh suppl}^ did 
not last long. "The poor ye have with you always, 
and whensoever ye will ye may do them good" has 
always been Mrs. Aiken's motto. Pier medicine 
was popular, it cured people for nothing. When the 
second supply was gone, there was no money left 
to buy more, so she gave up the idea of making 
her fortune, and confined herself to the care of the 


''AUNT lizzie:' 

The spring and summer of 1861, ushered in by 
the booming of cannon at Fort Sumter, brought 
events that filled the hearts of all lovers of their 
country with sadness and foreboding. Hardly had 
the necessity for their presence arisen, when true- 
hearted women made their way to the hospitals and 
battle-fields of the East, carrying comfort and cheer 
to many desolate spirits. In the West the con- 
flict did not begin so early, though training camps 
were established in the vicinity of many towns. 
Near Peoria were stationed the troops enlisted in 
that city. The blood that flowed in Mrs. Aiken's 
veins had not lost the patriotic ardor that distin- 
guished her ancestors in the Revolutionary war. 
She immediately joined the company of ladies who 
visited their relatives in the camp, and exerted herself 
for the comfort of tliose who had no near friends to 
supply them with many things which, though con- 
sidered absolute necessaries of life at home, are un- 
known in army life. As opportunity offered, she 


gave herself to missionary labors among the sol- 
diers. Her little bag was full of tracts, which were 
presented with such tender solicitude that the most 
indifferent could not refuse to take them. 

In October the want of nurses began to be felt 
in the Illinois camps. Just outside of Springfield 
was Camp Butler, filled with recruits, many of 
whom were sick with the measles. The head-sur- 
geon of the Sixth Illinois Cavalry, " Gov. Yates' 
Legion," Major Niglas, of Peoria, returned home, 
anxious to find competent nurses to assist him. 
Nor was he alone in his solicitude; the mothers of 
Peoria had sons in the camp, and many of them 
came and implored Mrs. Aiken to go and care for 
them. Her own love of her country, and her heart 
filled with sympathy for the suffering soldiers re- 
sponded to the appeal, and she consented to accom- 
pany Major Niglas, provided some lady could be 
found to join her. An advertisement for such a per- 
son was put in the local papers, and the next morn- 
ing Mrs. Mai'y Sturgis, a widow, presented herself 
and was gladly accepted. The two nurses were about 
the same age, and at once took the greatest liking to 
each other. Both were earnest Christian women, 
both were alone in the world ; Mrs. Sturgis a widow, 
Mrs. Aiken having no home, on account of her hus- 
band's illness. 

But all of Mrs. Aiken's friends were not in favor 


of her new occupation. Mr. Irons, who afterwards 
raised a regiment of which he was colonel, was at 
this time absent from home. He wrote decidedly 
opposing the move, portraying the dangers of cap- 
ture. " The rebels, " he says " into whose hands 
you may fall, will not be liable to show you any 
particular favors or mercy in consideration of your 
being women. Men who can strip and tar and 
feather school-mistresses, as they have done, would 
not show nurses in our army much respect. My 
opinion is that unless you can jump over a ten rail 
fence, run a mile, and swim a river, you had better 
not go. " 

Nevertheless, in October, the two ladies and Mrs. 
Sturgis' daughter Mary accompanied Major Niglas 
when he returned to Camp Butler. They found 
in the Major a kind friend, who looked after their 
welfare so long as they were with the regiment. 
They reached Springfield toward nightfall, and tak- 
ing a carriage, rode the six or seven miles to camp, 
through the quiet fields flooded with the radiance 
of the full moon. Nothing could hav^e seemed more 
remote from war and its distresses than this peaceful 
pi'airie. On reaching the camp, they found that 
they were expected. A new tent had been provid- 
ed for them, just opposite the long row of hospital 

Major Niglas, to spare them the sight of misery 


that thej were too tired to relieve, bade them rest 
before going on duty. They found that their beds 
consisted of a load of straw and some blankets, no 
cots having yet been provided. Taking their car- 
pet-bags for pillows tlie3' attempted to sleep; but in 
vain. The groans of the sick, and cries of " order- 
ly, orderl}^, oh! bring me some water," filled their 
hearts with pity, and they passed most of the night 
in standing at the door of their tent, watching the 
orderlies as they hurried about attending to the suf- 
ferers. Very early in the morning, they besought 
the surgeon to permit them to go on duty imme- 
diately, and were allowed to enter upon their four 
years' work. The surgeon took them into the hos- 
pital tents where the sick lay in their red flannel 
shirts, with no beds but their blankets spread on the 
ground, their faces and hands scarlet with the mea- 
sles. The poor fellows were overcome with grati- 
tude. They thanked the ladies over and over again 
for coming to them, and implored tliem for aid. 
They wished to know the names of these kind 
friends who were to fill the places of their mothers, 
and asked Major Niglas to let them use some ap- 
pellations less formal than Madam in addressing 
them. So the surgeon, turning to Mrs. Sturgis 
who stood at his right, said "you may call this lady 
'Mother,' and the lady at my left you may call 
' Aunt Lizzie.' " " Mother " and " Aunt Lizzie " 

"AUNT lizzie:' 73 

tliej continue to be to this day, in the grateful 
hearts of ma.r\j of their " boys." 

Obviously the first necessity to be met was to 
provide beds for the sick, who were lying on the 
damp ground. Mother and Aunt Lizzie determined 
to call upon the loyal ladies of Springfield for aid, 
and made it their first business to see them. The 
ladies of Springfield called a meeting at once, and 
filled with gladness the hearts of the nurses by pro- 
viding them liberally with tents, cots and bedding. 

"When our nurses returned to camp they were or- 
dered to be on duty day and night, relieving each 
other every six hours. They did not require much 
time to set their own affairs in order. They had 
brought nothing from Peoria but their carpet-bags 
and an extra waterproof suit. Aunt Lizzie's half 
of the night was from six o'clock to midnight. 
There were eighty patients. The surgeon gave her 
orders and medicine for them all, and then led her 
to a tent where were two men lying on the ground, 
who, he told her, must soon die. In the stormy 
autumn night, the old tent flapping in the wind, 
the rain beating a requiem against the canvas, she 
knelt down on the damp earth between the dying 
men and prayed, while the tired detail leaned 
against the tent post, holding a lantern that shed a 
dim light on their wan faces. There, so near their 
homes and those who loved them, and yet as com- 


fortless as if far in the wilderness, the soldiers en- 
trusted messages to Aunt Lizzie and wept while 
she prayed with them. The next day they both 
died. For several weeks the nurses worked night 
and day, each day's record being similar to the first. 
In November the regiment was ordered toShaw- 
neetown, on the Ohio River, to go into winter quar- 
ters. The sick begged and prayed so hard to go 
with Mother and Aunt Lizzie that the doctor con- 
cluded that they would die if left behind, and that 
they could no more than die if they went. Baggage 
cars were secured and the men were safely transferred 
on their mattresses to them. All night the devoted 
nurses went from car to car with their medicines 
and hot drinks for the sick. Singularly enough, 
not one died from the exposure. At Cairo all were 
put on board the steamer " Montgomery," and pass- 
ing up the Ohio River, arrived safely at Shawnee- 
town, Illinois. Here they found a large stone 
building already -partially fitted up as a hospital. 
One little room was assign'^d to the ladies. The 
carpenter had built two bert . against the wall; 
these, filled with straw, without pillows, were their 
beds. Though rude, they were comfortable, as a 
comical little incident shows: Once when at mid- 
night Aunt Lizzie crept into her berth, she was 
startled by a mouse that ran under her hand. 
Though a very .brave t/peman, she could not sleep 

''AUNT lizzie:' 75 

in peace with a mouse in her bed. In dismay she 
jumped out upon the floor, the little creature 
following her. She now thought that the coast was 
clear and that she might return to her couch, but, 
on lying down, she found the mouse had made a 
nest in the corner, and five little fellows began to 
squirm and squeak. Much sleep that night was out 
of the question. 

All winter the nurses worked day and night, 
six hours of service alternating with six of rest. 
Aunt Lizzie passed a busy winter. Every after- 
noon she accompanied the doctor, carrying the ink- 
stand, telling the name and symptoms of each pa- 
tient in the four wards, and giving full information 
concerning all new cases. She also superintended 
the changing of bed linen, the administration of 
medicine, the laying out of the dead, beside calling 
the roll at six o'clock in the morning and nine at 
night. The number of the sick varied from twenty 
to eighty all winter. 

There came weeks wlien their comforts were very 
few, when the pooi ick boys were compelled to 
live on corn-bread and bean-coffee. Then to cheer 
them. Aunt Lizzie read a ballad descriptive of the 
sufferings of the Revolutionary soldiers at Yalley 
Forge, but hardly with the result at which she 
aimed. " I wept," she writes, "my poor boys wept, 
the ofiicers wept, we felt the- verses to be so appro- 
priate to our circumstances." 


One stormy afternoon several patients were 
brought in. Among them was a man about thirty- 
five years old, ill with rlieumatism. He was very 
cross. Indeed, as Annt Lizzie passed along, his com- 
rades told her in whispers how very ill-natured he 
was, and besought her not to mind him if he were 
petulant with her. The man had been a shoemaker 
and had taken his kit of tools into camp with him. 
When he was brought to the hospital the surgeon 
allowed him to keep it under his pillow. Aunt 
Lizzie spied these tools as she came in with his sup- 
per on a little tray, and divining at once his fond- 
ness for them, and the home-sickness that made 
him cling to anything connected with his former 
life, thought to herself how she might cheer him. 
A silly little song about a shoemaker, that she had 
learned when a girl, came into her mind, and in- 
stantly she began to sing it, with its rattling chorus. 

" With a rang- tang- tang diddle-do." 

This set all the sick men into a roar of laughter, 
and pleased the cross shoemaker so much, that he 
forgot to be ill-natured from this time on. As for 
Aunt Lizzie, he almost worshipped her, and often re- 
quested her to sing " his little song." The foolish 
ditty helped him more than medicine, and filled a 
niche in the world of which its writer probably 
never dreamed. 

Aunt Lizzie's cheerfulness and ready tact won 

''AUNT lizzie:' 77 

her many friends, who did not forget her when they 
left the hospital. Their bill of fare had been for a 
long time soup, rice, barley, coffee, or what passed 
for it, with molasses to sweeten it, and bread baked 
by an old woman in the village, not always very ap- 
petizing. One day Annt Lizzie went into the dis- 
pensary for medicine, when a young man, who had 
been discharged from the hospital as cured, came in 
ostensibly on the same errand. His real business, 
however, was to smuggle a hot mince pie to Aunt 
Lizzie. In the goodness of his heart he had bought 
it for her as a great luxury, but unfortunately he 
did not understand the nature of pies, and, in order 
to carry it safely, put it under his arm, inside his 
overcoat. Of course the contents all ran out, and, 
as it was against the rules to bring food into the 
hospital, he stood in danger of being sent to the 
guard-house. But Aunt Lizzie came to the rescue 
by taking all the responsibility upon herself. She 
stepped up to him, as he stood in blank dismay at 
the disaster, and took the pie saying, " Ah, Tom, 
my boy, you did bring my pie, didn't you?" The 
poor fellow was greatly chagrined at the failure of 
his plan to procure a good dinner for his kind 

In January, 1862, Aunt Lizzie writes: 

" Quite a little incident took place j'esterday; we, as nurses, 
were sworn into the United States' service. * ♦ * * Dj._ 


Niglas tells me I have saved the lives of over four hundred men. 
I am afraid I hardly deserve the compliment. General Grant, 
General Sturgis, and General Sherman paid us a visit. All 
join in saying we excel all other hospitals in being attentive to 
our sick and in cleanliness. They suggested my going to Cairo. 
Dr. Nig' as spurned the proposition, and I did too. I cannot 
tell you how well this work suits this restless heart of mine; 
my great desire to do something to benefit my fellow-creatures 
is gratified in my present occupation." 

In February, Forts Henry and Donelson were 
captured by the Union army under General Grant. 
The soldiers, though victors in the end, endured 
untold suiFering. Daring four nights of the bit- 
terest weather, they encamped around Fort Donel- 
son in the driving storm, without tents or fire, and 
many were destitute even of blankets. The wound- 
ed lay moaning on the snow, their cries growing 
fainter and fainter as they froze to death on the 
cold ground. As soon as possible, those who sur- 
vived were placed on boats and taken down the 
river to the hospitals, many of them to Shawnee- 
town. The first boat arrived with its burden of grief 
and suffering under the dark shadow of a stormy, 
wintry night. The surgeon came to the ward where 
Aunt Lizzie was giving medicine, and said, "Aunt 
Lizzie, the wounded from Fort Donelson have come, 
cannot you go down and help them disembark?" 
It was the first time that any w^ounded had been 
brought under her care. To sickness in almost 
all its forms she had become accustomed. With 


a heavy heart she walked through the rain to 
the boat, with four soldiers detailed to assist her. 
Wlien they reached the wharf, Aunt Lizzie took 
her stand by the gang-plank, with her little cup 
of wine ready to be held to the lips of the dying, 
if so she might restore the life, flickering on the 
ashy lips. The first stretcher was brought off the 
boat and set down before her. As the soldiers 
stood it gently on the ground, she cried, "Let me 
look, let me look." In silence the oil-cloth blanket 
was lifted, and there lay, with his dead hands folded 
under his cheek, and the life blood frozen on his 
side, a widow's offering to her country. Aunt 
Lizzie recoo:niz(id him in a moment. It was one 
of the boys who had left home in the first regiment 
that marched out of Peoria. But this was no time 
for tears, so Aunt Lizzie, stifling her emotions, 
spent a busy night in attending to the wants of 
these poor, wounded, half-frozen men. 

AH through this dreary month of February, the 
rain fell in torrents. The hospital was entirely 
surrounded with water, and all the sick were brought 
from the camp on flat-boats. No wonder that many 
died with typhoid pneumonia. Every few days the 
inmates of the hospital were agitated by orders to 
march hither and thither, which when all prepara- 
tions had been made, were suddenly countermand- 
ed. Amid such bustle and confusion, the daily, aye, 


and the nightly work went on. Aunt Lizzie writes, 
" Twenty-four nights in succession I have sat up 
till three o'clock in the morning, dealing out medi- 
cine; I cannot think of leaving these poor fellows 
if there is any chance of their living. I have for 
the last month written ten letters a week. I corres- 
pond with four Ladies' Aid Societies." 

Our story during these years of hospital life is 
necessarily a sad one. The record of sickness, 
suffering and death is not cheering, but the dark 
background serves to throw out into the the strong- 
est light the good deeds of those who served, and 
the patience and Christian resignation of those who 

The last of February the regiment was ordered 
to Paducah, Kentucky. Six companies left Shaw- 
neetown at once, the remainder waiting for the next 
boat. The hospital was not moved until the rest 
had embarked, in order that all the sick might be 
gathered in before they started. On Tuesday after- 
noon, the fourth of March, the last battalion and 
all the hospital patients left, going, however, only 
as far as Smithland, Kentucky. Each battalion was 
entitled to a nurse, so Major Niglas, head suj'geon 
of the regiment, not wishing to separate Mrs. Sturgis 
and her daughter, took them with him to Paducah, 
where the larger part of the regiment was already 
stationed. Aunt Lizzie was left with the assistant 

"AUNT lizzie:' 81 

surgeon to care for the sick at Smithland. A tavern 
was seized upon for a hospital, and in a few hours 
all were made as comfortable as possible under the 

A few extracts from letters will tell the story of 
the first few days at Paducah, better than any 
description of mine: 

" The doctor would not take the Post Hospital, and one bat- 
talion would not justify him in opening one of his own, there- 
fore, after spending three days with them, I left Smithland for 
Paducah, to join the old doctor and his crew, or to be discharged, 
I did not know which. The doctor, Major Niglas, gave me a 
hearty welcome, and I went on duty the same night. Our 
school-house is crowded to overflowing, although two stories 
high. A neat little cottage in the lot adjoining our hospital 
has been rented, where all the cooking is done. We ladies 
have a pleasant front room. * * * * 

" I do hope I shall be able to act as nurse during the cam- 
paign; knowing the wants and sufferings of the poor soldiers, 
I should be perfectly wretched to return home." 

A little later she writes: 

" Great threats are made against us, yet I never was so free 
from fear in my life, for I do feel, Mother, that our cause is just. 
A dispatch was sent to Cairo for two regiments. They re- 
ceived the word at eleven last night; at nine this morning they 
were marching up Broadway, jl do believe some of the Revo- 
lutionary blood is yet in my vems; the worth of my liberty, my 
countiy is everything; but it is tin.e to go on duty." 

" We have eleven hospitals in this city. I am at St. Mark's, 
the First Baptist Church. It is a very large edifice, will hold 
five hundred patients. We have fifteen hundred changes of 
clothing. My dear Mother, I have so much to stimulate me in 


my arduous work. I seo represented in our linen closet, Mass- 
achusetts, Rhode Island, Maine, New Hamp-hire, Vermont, 
Connecticut, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, In- 
diana, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Illinois. It would 
astonish you to see the Yankee socks: the heels run, and 
yarn to darn them with; and such boxes of woolen blankets, 
coverlets quilts, comforts, underclothing, sheets, 'and pillow- 
cases." * * * 

"My task is not so hard as through the winter. I am on 
duty only four hours at a time — at eight in the morning and 
eight at night. The stench of the wounds is almost past en- 
durance, yet how small seems the sacrifice on my part when I 
look at the bravery of these poor fellows. No murmurs, no 

To another she writes: 

" We have four thousand men station<^d here. With all the 
elegance of their uniform, all the beauty of their drill, all the 
patriotism of their martial music, my soul is made sad when I 
think of the background of sighs and groans of the dying. In 
going through the long rows of wounded men, such fortitude I 
never saw; not a groan, not a murmur escapes their lips. As 
for myself, my endurance astonishes me. Let some poor fellow 
say: 'Cannot Aunt Lizzie stand by me through the amputa- 
tion, and hold my hand? ' and let me hear it, I cannot refuse 
to do anything to alleviate his sufferings. I shall look for a 
letter from mother soon. Tell her I am about my Master's busi- 
ness. Don't worry about me. Could you be present and see a 
soldier die, hear the last expression that falls from his lips, 
as he tells me: ' Say to my mother that I am my country's 
sacrifice; say to ray wife, may she and my children enjoy peace 
and freedom,' you would not wonder that I feel that I must 

Indeed, the sending of messages to the relatives 

*' AUNT lizzie:* 83 

of the dying was no small part of the work of a 
faithful hospital nurse. Often Aunt Lizzie left the 
stifling hospital ward, after four hours of incessant 
toil, and the mental strain that invariably comes 
from the sight of such suffering; but when she 
reached her quiet chamber in the parsonage, she 
could not take the much needed rest. Far into the 
night she wrote letters bearing the last sorrowful 
messages of love, fresh from the lips of the dying. 
The little tablets that she carried about in her 
pocket were always filled with such memoranda. 
To her unwearied labors in this direction, how 
many owe the satisfaction of knowing that their 
loved ones passed away breathing a last prayer for 
dear friends far away. • 

It was at Paducah that Aunt Lizzie first came in 
contact with the Sanitary Commission. "When she 
took charge, as head nurse, of St. Mark's Hospital, 
she found the basement full of boxes from seven 
different States, even from those as far west as Iowa 
and Minnesota. Not only were there, as we have 
already seen, large quantities of bed linen and cloth- 
ing, but also boxes of bandages and barrels of lint, 
as well as all kinds of portable luxuries suitable for 
the sick. After her long worry during the winter, 
when she could hardly procure anything fit for her 
patients to eat, and when men voted as to who should 
be the happy possessor of a pillow, this unwonted 


abundance filled Ler witli enthusiasm. The s}- mpa- 
tliy displayed for the soldiers by women all over the 
land, from Maine to Minnesota, could but stimulate 
and encourage her. As she herself says, she felt 
the heart of the nation throbbing for the wounded. 
The battle of Shiloli was fouo^ht at the beorinnins 
of April. Like so many of our battles, it lasted for 
two days. The Union troops were lirst repulsed, 
and then, being re-enforced, repulsed the enemy with 
snccess, and regained all the prisoners and stores 
that they had lost. 'There was great slanghter and 
suffering on both sides. The wounded were sent on 
boats to Paducah, laid in long rows on the floor, 
with grass packed between them, and a bit of hard- 
tack Ml their pockets. Many were dying, many 
were already dead as the boat, bearing a load of 
wounded for St. Mark's, swung to shore at Paducah. 
Ah! what a test of her womanly fortitude was it, 
when Aunt Lizzie went down the plank into this 
crowd of sorrow. The Mounded were packed so 
closely together that she could hardly step between 
them; many of them had bled to death, and as she 
went fi'om one to another, the tide of their stream- 
ing life-blood wet her feet. The surgeon stood in 
the hatchway, and gave her orders to administer to 
each a swallow of wine. With a little china cup 
tied to her belt, she went among them lifting their 
fainting heads and begging them for their lives to 

''AUNT LlZZlEr 85 

take some nourishment. Never in her life had she 
performed a mission so holj. After her came the 
details with pails of chicken-broth, giving those who 
could take it a little at a time, till they recovered 
strength to endure the anguish of being lifted and 
laid on stretcliers, and carried to the hospital. It 
is one of the wonders of human nature, that such 
scenes as this develop tiie most sublime unselfish- 
ness. As Aunt Lizzie pressed her cup to the lips of 
those suffering men, lying in their blood, they looked 
up into her face and faintly whispered, "don't for- 
get my comrade." " My boys " she answered, in her 
heart}", cheerful way, which is always as good a tonic 
as a cup of wine, " my boys, I will come to every 
one of you." 

As the line of stretchers crept slowly to the hospi- 
tal, it looked like one long funeral procession. 
Aunt Lizzie stood watching them as they passed, 
quite unconscious in her excitement, that her gar- 
ments were dyed crimson with blood. One young 
man, in his helplessness, looked up at her most 
pitifully and said, 

" Mother do you see me?" 

" Yes, my son," she replied, " 1 see that you have 
lost an arm." 

"But look again," he said, and then she saw tliat 
a leg had also been shot away. He reached out his 
trembling hand and said faintly, 


" Oil Mother if you could but take my hand and 
walk along beside me." 

" Certainly," she answered, " I will." 

They had gone but a few steps when the blood 
spurted from the wonnded arm. The bearers care- 
fully set him down, while Aunt Lizzie snatched a 
compress from her pocket and applied it. In a few 
minutes she saw the gray shadow of exhaustion 
steal over his face. Looking up at her he sighed, 
" I am so faint, what shall I do?" She adminis- 
tered a spoonful of wine, when he exclaimed, "What 
can I do?" Her mother-heart full of tenderness, 
and her eyes full of tears, she said, 

"My son, my son, look to Jesus." 

"O, I know, I know I must look to Him," was 
the answer. 

After a moment's pause, as he was sinking in 
death, he gazed up into heaven, and crying gladly, 
"I look, I look," passed away, "looking unto Jesus." 

During four weeks the toil of the devoted nurses 
was incessant. Among others, Colonel St. Clair 
Bass, of the Thirty -first Indiana Regiment, was 
brought in with many of his regiment, fatally woun- 
ded. Through the long days that elapsed before he 
died, he never uttered a groan or a murmlir, but at 
every cry from his soldiers lie exclaimed " oh my 
noble boys, my poor boys, take care of them, they 
fought so bravely." H's wife and children came 


Justin time to see him die, but he did not recognize 
tliem. Mrs, Bass has kindly furnished an account 
of this sad time, from which we quote. " One o'clock 
on the morning of the fourteenth of April found us 
at Paducah, anxiously searching from one hospital 
to another, all churches, for St. Mark's. At last we 
reached it, gave the pass-word and were admitted by 
the sentinel, who sent an orderly to inform the nurse 
in charge of our arrival. The orderly returned, say- 
ing, 'Aunt Lizzie has had Col. Bass moved to the 
linen-room, — you may come.' I can never forget 
Aunt Lizzie's whispered salutation: "Dear child, 
you have come, but I fear too late; still this kiss is 
yours, for he said, ' Give it to Eliza if she comes too 
late,'* and, hush dear children, your only hope for 
recognition from husband, father or brother is in 
quiet watching and waiting for the possible con- 
scious moment.' A pallet of blue coats was made on 
the floor for the cliild, while we watched, waited and 
hoped for the word or token that never came. "With 
the first grey streak of dawn Aunt Lizzie closed the 
eyes, composed the features — the brave soul had 
passed away." 

" Can we whose loved ones have received in sick- 
ness and in death such tender care as Aunt Lizzie 
with her loving heart and deep rel gious nature 
gives to all, ever be grateful enough? Gratitude 
should take a more substantial form than mere 


appreciation. Aunt Lizzie lias earned the right to 
beffin her future reward here on earth, and itsliould 
be said to her by actions as well as words, ' rest 
from labor.' " 

Though a little aside from our purpose^ we can- 
not refrain from finishing this sad story. 

Col. Bass, although at the head of an Indiana 
regiment, was a native of Kentucky, having been 
born within thirty miles of Paducah. His father 
arrived after he had been placed in his coffin. Aunt 
Lizzie approached the aged mourner as he gazed on 
the dead, and quietly said: " He left this message, 
' Tell my father, if I do not live to see him, how hard 
I struggled to sustain the principles of saving the 
Union.' " 

The old man, bowed with age, bent his grey head 
over the lifeless countenance, and with a look of 
almost unnatural composure said, " Well done, my 
son; what though my property be destroyed, what 
thoughmy children fall, or my own life be sacrificed, 
so that my government be preserved!" 

It was a night never to be forgotten by Aunt 
Lizzie, when all the Indiana regiments in Paducah 
formed a grand funeral procession, their weapons 
glittering in the moonlight, and escorted the body 
of Col. Bass to the boat that was to bear it home 
for burial. Behind the coffin walked bare-headed 
the aged father and one of Paducah's best judges, 


an intense Union man and a schoolmate of the 
the mourner, by his side, their white locks blown 
about by the breeze. " I am proud," writes Aunt 
Lizzie, in the letter from which this description is 
taken, "I am proud of Kentucky Unionists; they 
know what they are fighting for; they would make 
some of our [Northern men hide their heads in 


One evening in April, Paducah was visited by a 

tornado. At the close of an excessively hot day, 
a storm suddenly arose, accompanied by a violent 
wind. The tin roof of St. Mark's Hospital was 
rolled up like a sheet of paper and carried oiF, leav- 
ing the inmates exposed to the storm. Aunt Liz- 
zie's courage rose to the occasion; she at once or- 
dered the details to carry the sick over to that part 
of the building where the wind was least heavy, 
and spent the night in protecting them as far as 
possible from its effects. Toward morning, the 
surgeon and the steward eame over to offer aid, 
which Aunt Lizzie's energy had rendered unneces- 

In June, their considerate friend, head-surgeon 
Niglas, perceiving that the garments of Aunt Lizzie 
and Mother Sturgis were nearly worn out, suggest- 
ed to the Ladies' Aid Society of Springfield the idea 
of replacing tliem. The ladies responded by send- 
ing an entire summer outfit, accompanied by a note 


in which they say, "As we cannot labor ourselves 
in the hospitals, we are very glad to help those who 
give their whole time to that noble service." 

In tlie heat of a southern June, Aunt Lizzie's 
morning work began by accompanying the doctor 
in his visit to the wards. This was immediately 
followed by the oversight of the ten o'clock Innch 
for the convalescents; then the changing of all the 
bed linen and clothing of a hundred and ten pa- 
tients; after that she seasoned the soup for dinner, 
gave the medicine to both wards, sanof "Rock of 
Ages," or some other hj'mn, and then left to get 
her own dinner. "My usual salutation in the 
morning," she writes, " is, how are you, my fellow- 
soldiers? and then I sing to them 'The Red, White 
and Blue,' 'Our Flag is There,' or some other pat- 
riotic song." 

There was with all the suffering, a comical side 
to hospital life, that often crops out in Aunt Lizzie's 
stories. While at Paducah, though amply supplied 
with all manner of sanitary stores, they were otteu 
sadly in want of chickens to make broth for con- 
valescents. There was an immense " secesh " roost- 
er, which annoyed them greatly by crowing with 
great vigor at unseasonable hours, behind the hos- 
pital. He was an overgrown Shanghai, of ancient 
birth — in fact belonged to one of the lirst families ; 
at least Aunt Lizzie thought when she tried to cook 

"AUNT lizzie:' 91 

him that he probably came out of the ark. One 
day as she stood by the window pondering over 
ways and means for feeding her patients, she hap- 
pened to see this patriarch, and it occurred to her 
that he was contraband of war, and that she might 
lawfully confiscate liim to make a feast for her boys, 
Yery early in the morning, she sent three men to 
catch him, when unfortunately he ran straight into 
the hall, and was caught, shrieking as only an an- 
cient fowl can, directly in front of the head sur- 
geon's room. In a minute or two, the door was 
opened by the surgeon in dressing gown and slip- 
pers, with a little black smoking cap on his head, 
very angry indeed at having his morning nap dis- 
turbed. He threatened to send the soldiers to the 
guard house, and bade them let the rooster go, to 
stop his noise. Aunt Lizzie, on the other hand, was 
determined not to lose her chicken broth at this 
late hour. Standing invisible behind the froiit 
door she whispered, " My boys, don't you dare to 
leave your victim unslain. If you are sent to the 
guard house, let me know and I will defend you. " 
The result was that about the time the old rebel was 
ready for the pot, an orderly came in search of 
Aunt Lizzie. The surgeon had caused the soldiers 
to be arrested, and they had sent for her to help 
them out of their difficulty. When she opened the 
door, she saw that the doctor was still very much 


incensed, and probably would not listen to any of 
her explanations, while the three bojs stood regard- 
ing her with rueful looks. She perceived at once 
that nothing could be done, unless she could sur- 
prise the surgeon into good nature, so putting her 
finger in her mouth, and hanging her head like a 
naughty child, she walked into the room with an 
air of the greatest dejection. The surgeon looked 
up sternly. 

" What is the matter?" he said. 

" I'm afraid, sir," was the answer. 

" Afraid of what?" asked the doctor, somewhat 

" I'm afraid you'll scold me, sir," said Aunt Liz- 
zie, still apparently very penitent. Her pitiful look 
caused him to succumb. He laughed and said, 
" Boys, go to your regiment, and Aunt Lizzie, go 
you to your wounded; but catch no more hens so 
early in the morning." 

Four days they cooked that ancient fowl. Every 
day he made a good pot-full of broth, and grew 
tougher and tougher. How old he was still re- 
mains a mystery. 

As the seat of war shifted to the South and West, 
the hospitals naturally followed in the track of the 
armies, in order to be near the battlefields. Ac- 
cordingly, on the twenty-first of July, the hospital of 
the Sixth Illinois Cavalry was ordered to Memphis, 

"AUNT lizzie:' 93 

Tennessee, which liad been in possession of the 
Union troops for more tlian two months, and was 
considered secure from attacks of the enemy. A 
great number of the wounded were sent home. 
Still there were some two hundred and eighty left to 
be cared for. These were carefully carried on board 
the steamer, "Prima Donna," and tended by their 
faithful nurses. At Cairo they parted with Surgeon 
I^iglas, who was forced to return for some time, to 
Peoria, and who left his patients with confidence to 
the care of Aunt Lizzie and Mother Sturgis. At 
Columbus, they took as escort, a large gun-boat witli 
twelve cannon, and in this war-like manner pro- 
ceeded down the Mississippi. 

About three o'clock on the afternoon of the twen- 
ty-fifth of July, the " Prima Donna" reached Mem- 
phis, passing to the wharf between two large gun- 
boats, stationed as guard before the city. 

A large, unfinished, brick building was at first 
occupied as a hospital, and the sick and wounded 
of the regiment, many of whom were already in 
other hospitals, were brought to it. The very after- 
noon that she arrived, the oflicers of the regiment 
called upon Aunt Lizzie and insisted upon her taking 
the sick from the camp. The boys themselves 
begged to come, willing to trust to her skill till the 
doctor should return. She also found, already in 
the United States Hospital, thirty of the soldiers of 


her regiment, who were delighted that she had 
come. One young man saw her across the ball, and 
cried out almost with his last breath, " Oh, Aunt 
Lizzie, you have come too late, your boy is dying." 
The sick were brought from camp in ambulances, 
and while Mother Sturo^is and her daujjhter saw 
them comfortably bestowed in their cots. Aunt Liz- 
zie, in her new role of doctor, went from one to 
another and prescribed their medicine. Ten days 
after, when the doctor arrived, he found her with 
her fourteen new patients all doing well. Among 
other diseases she had treated them for typhoid 
fever, pneumonia and cholera morbus. The surgeon 
complimented her as an apt student, and she went 
gladly back to her place as nurse, content with 
having proved that she could play the part of doc- 
tor, if necessaiy. 

Mempliis was full of soldiers, thirty thousand 
were encamped in and around the town. Among 
these regiments was the Sixth Illinois Cavalry, 
•' Gov. Yates' Legion," as it was called, to which 
Aunt Lizzie belonged. The boys out on picket duty 
did not forget their friends in the hospital, but 
every mornino- brouo:ht in bao^s of larg-e, delicious 
peaches, confiscated in the suburbs. The stock of 
vegetables was kept up in the same way; whatever 
luxuries of the kind had been planted in the spring, 
around Memphis, were not lacking to the sick and 

AUNT lizzie:' 95 

Aunt Lizzie tells a pitiful story of four negroes 
for whom she cared in Memphis. Two men named 
Alfred and Henderson, with their wives Chloe and 
Mary Jane, slaves in Mississippi, ran awa}'-, hopint;^ 
to reach Memphis and freedom. They traveled by 
night, and hid during the day in woods and swamps, 
subsisting on fruit that they took from gardens. 
When near Holly Springs, about forty miles from 
Memphis, they were discovered, and hunted with 
bloodhounds. They rushed into a swamp overgrown 
with thickets, the men generously covering the re- 
treat of their wives. As Alfred was escaping, a 
hound caught at the calf of his leg and stripped oft' 
the flesh down to the heel. Still he persisted in 
trying to get away, and their pursuers were obliged 
to shoot both him and Henderson, before tliey would 
submit to being dragged to the Holly Springs' jail. 
A part of Aunt Lizzie's regiment was stationed 
near, and the Colonel hearing of the occurrence, 
took a squad of men, opened the jail, and sent the 
poor fugitives to the hospital at Memphis. Aunt 
Lizzie dressed their wounds, and took care of them 
for nearly a month. But owing to the severity of 
the wounds and consequent exposure, the men died. 
They were both true Christians and sang many 
camp-meeting hymns which Aunt Lizzie had never 
heard before. She learned from them, " We're go- 
ing home to die no more," which they sang often 


and with great fervor. As Alfred was dying, he 
thanked his kind nurse for her care, and added, 
" Missus, I've gave my life for my freedom, but I 
shall soon be with Jesus." The two women had 
been unhurt in tlie scuffle, and gladly gave their 
services to the hospital. Mary Jane died after two 
years of faithful service. Chloe still survives. 

In October, the hospital was removed to the resi- 
dence of Colonel Hunt, on Beale Street. The Colo- 
nel and his family were not at home, having fled 
from the city on the approacli of General Grant. 
Everything had been left in their flight, even to two 
old negroes — Aunt Judy and her husband Sam. 
The house had been General Grant's head-quarters 
when he entered the city. It stood in the middle of 
a ten-acre garden, surrounded by noble evergreens, 
fully thirty years old, and many magnolia trees. 
The house contained fifteen rooms, elegantly fur- 
nished. Miss Babcock of Chicago, occupied the 
back parlor with Aunt Lizzie. This room, filled 
with luxurious lounges and arm-chairs, was so 
great a contrast to their former quarters, that Aunt 
Lizzie found herself wishing that they might be 
permitted to stay there all winter. One side of the 
large room was fitted up with shelves to hold the 
bed linen and garments of the sick. Miss Babcock 
had just returned from Chicago, laden with gifts 
from the church to which she belonged, to gladden 


the hearts of all bj her goodness and helpfulness. 
At this time she superintended the laundry, and 
filled the place of housekeeper to the entire family. 
Aunt Judy did the cooking. Aunt Lizzie and 
Mother Stiirgis had charge of the hospital. 

Across the road was the Medical College, filled 
with wounded, and scattered about the garden were 
hospital tents. Exposure in passing from one to 
another of these, during the chilly autumnal rains, 
brought on a violent attack of inflammatory rheu- 
matism, which laid Aiint Lizzie on a bed of pain 
for four Ions' weeks. The sufferinor that she endured 
was violent in itself, but was rendered more unbear- 
able by her hearing the cries of those whom she 
could no longer assist. One poor boy, shot through 
the foot, lay at the end of the long hall, and often 
cried out in some paroxysm of pain: "Oh God! 
oh God ! " Up stairs an old wounded captain 
moaned: " Oh Lord! oh Lord! " and as she heard 
them. Aunt Lizzie comprehended both herself, and 
them, and all the wounded, in one petition, and 
prayed: " Oh God, oh Lord have mercy!" 

In November the Sixth Illinois Cavalry was or- 
dered South, but Surgeon Niglas did not consider 
it advisable that the nurses should follow their 
march into the enemy's country. He therefore left 
them in Memphis, having secured places for them 


at tlie Ovington Hospital. Aunt Lizzie and Moth- 
er Stnrgis thus ceased to be the nurses of a regi- 
ment, and entered upon a broader work in the 
general hospitals of Memphis. 



The Ovington Hospital liad formerly been the 
finest hotel in Memphis, and was under the care of 
six sisters of the Holy Cross, and six Protestant 
nurses. Aunt Lizzie had charge of Ward A, in 
which lay over a hundred sick and wounded men. 
Here she remained until the early part of January, 
1863. The weather during November and Decem- 
ber was very severe. Snow storms were frequent 
and the cold unusual. The hospital, having been 
built for a hotel, had wide iron stair-cases. The 
exposure and chill incident to passing over these 
stairs and through the vast unheated halls was such 
that many of the nurses could not endure it, and 
were forced to return home. Strange as it may 
seem, though just recovering from her attack of 
rheumatism, the pressure of work seemed to do 
Aunt Lizzie good. Though taking the responsi- 
bility of caring for a hundred patients, with an eye 
to tlie work of the diet-room on the floor, she was 


much more able to endure the fatigue than many 
who came fresh and well from home. 

When Sherman's army started from Memphis 
on the first expedition against Yicksburg, Aunt Liz- 
zie stood and watched those thousands of brave men 
as they marched past in the sunshine of the bright 
winter day. All the bands played, the flags waved, 
and the weapons flashed in the sunlight; but well 
she knew that many of the soldiers who started 
away with such eclat would return to her for a word 
of sympathy, a drop of water, wounded and dying. 
And so it proved to be. Large numbers of the 
younger men were soon smitten with pneumonia 
and were brought back in ambulances. All night 
they were received at the hospital. Soon followed 
the wounded of that disastrous campaign, till the 
heart and hands had all that they could do day and 

One dav, just after Christmas, a note was handed 
Aunt Lizzie, stating that six hundred sick had just 
arrived at the Jefferson Hospital, and that her broth- 
er Bertrand was atnong the number. She went down 
quickly and found the street in front of the hospital 
full of stretchers, standing in the snow. The sick 
men lying on them were a piteous sight. Many of 
them were mere skeletons, who looked after Aunt 
Lizzie with gaunt and hungry eyes. They had been 
recaptured from a Southern prison, where they had 


been almost starved to death, and brought up the 
river to Memphis. With an aching heart Aunt 
Lizzie passed about among them, failing to dis- 
cover in an J of the pinched and altered faces the 
blooming, youthful features of her youngest brother, 
the pet of the household. At last one of them 
looked wistfully at her and said, faintly, " O, Lizzie, 
how much you look like mother." It was Bertrand ; 
but oh, how changed! If he had not known her 
she never would have recognized him; pale, emaci- 
ated, looking almost like an old man. In spite of 
her joy at finding him, it was a tearful meeting. 
She went at once to the Medical Director and had 
him transferred to her own hospital. The sight of 
his sister infused new strength into his weary limbs, 
and he insisted upon walking up to Ovingtou Block 
with her. She took him into her own room, that 
she might devote all her spare time to him, for he 
was far more ill than he was at first willing to con- 
fess. Mother Sturo:is took the greatest interest in 
him, and together they did all in their power to 
help him back to life and strength. But their lov- 
ing care availed little. The foundations of liis vigor 
had been too systematically sapped by exposure and 
starvation. The devoted women never were able to re- 
store him to a point where he did not feel " all 
tired out," and in March they resolved to try the 
effects of a change of air. Aunt Lizzie sent him 


in care of friends to St. Louis, where liis brother' 
Mr. Ward Atherton, met him and took him home to 
Hoyleton, Illinois . 

During this autumn and winter Aunt Lizzie 
and Mother Sturgis were sent down by rail two or 
three times, to help bring home those wounded in 
the frequent skirmishes and fights to the South and 
East of Memphis. They found houses, the win- 
dows of which were all broken by the cannonading, 
full of the wounded, and also many wounded men 
still on the battle-field. Their long experience had 
made them skillful in dressing wounds, and they 
occupied themselves for hours in helping the sur- 
geons and administering comfort and religious con- 
solation to the dying. When the long train was 
filled with sufferers, they fed and tended them till 
they arrived at the hospital. 

Li January, there being no longer room for the 
wounded that poured into Memphis, Aunt Lizzie 
and Mrs. Sturgis were ordered to Adams Block 
Hospital, to fit it up with twelve hundred cots. 
The building, which covered an entire square, was 
five stories high, and had been built for a hotel. 
Aunt Lizzie was installed head nurse, Mnth Mother 
Sturgis as ever her most eflScient and energetic 
helper. A large corps of excellent nurses assisted 
them. As soon as the hospital was ready, it was 
immediately filled with wounded brought from 


Corinth, Holly Springs and otlier places, who had 
hitherto been lodged in stores and private houses. 
Near the hospital a bakery was built, to supply it 
with bread. Six bakers were found among the 
troops, and sent to Aunt Lizzie that she might 
make her choice. She shrewdly looked them all 
over, laid her hand on the shoulder of a short, little 
Englishman, and said, "This is the man I want." 
Not knowing for what purpose he had been de- 
tailed, he did not understand the proceeding, and 
as he looked inquiringly at the officer in charge, his 
grey eyes stood out with fear. Aunt Lizzie, how- 
ever, soon put him at his ease, and set him at pre- 
paring home-made bread for her patients. He 
proved to be a skillful workman. 

Occasionally it required considerable tact to man- 
age homesick boys, and keep them from dying from 
sheer want of ambition to live. One day a young 
man of the Second Iowa Cavalry was brought into 
ward, with simply a flesh wound in his foot. He 
was laid on a cot between two men, one of whom 
had lost his arm, and the other a leg. These poor, 
maimed soldiers were patient and contented, but 
the young fellow between them was almost at the 
point of death with homesickness and despondency. 
He continually assured Aunt Lizzie that he knew 
he should die, and by no words of persuasion could 
she induce him to eat. 


One morning the physician in his rounds told the 
good nurse, who had become somewhat anxious 
about her patient, tliat there was no danger what- 
ever from the wound, but that he was really failing 
from want of nourishment. On entering the ward 
Aunt Lizzie urged him to partake of some food, 
telling him that slie expected his mother every day, 
and that she wanted him to be at least able to greet 
her when she came. But all her persuasions were 
in vain. He thought it was of no use to eat, he 
said, when he was so near heaven. He looked very 
sober over the matter. Aunt Lizzie stood by his 
side with a little breakfast that she had taken great 
pains to render inviting, a waiter covered with a 
white napkin, a cup of tea with a silver spoon, a 
plate of broiled ham, poached eggs and fried pota- 
toes. She put on as sober a face as his own, and 
assured him that he need not talk about going to 
heaven; that a hungry soul like him would not be 
received. "The Lord," she went on, " will not 
welcome one who goes hungry, when it is his duty 
to eat." 

He looked up with great earnestness, and said: 
"Do you really think so. Aunt Lizzie?" 

" Why, certainly, certainly ^''^ was the reply. Im- 
mediately he seized the plate and ate everything on 
it with the greatest relish, amid shouts ot laughter 
from everybody in the room. After that he ate with 


appetite, as well as from a sense of duty, and when 
his mother came a few days after, and found him 
improving and cheerful, he told her that Aunt Liz- 
zie had saved his life by her little ruse. 

After many unsuccessful attempts to get away 
for a few days Aunt Lizzie at last obtained leave 
of absence for a month. 

When refreshed by her rest, she returned to 
Memphis, she was escorted from the boat by ten of 
her boys, who had come down to meet her, and re- 
ceived the heartiest greetings from all her patients, 
many of whom had counted the days till she should 

That same day as Aunt Lizzie stood at the farther 
end of the ward, superintending the bestowment 
of wounded brought from Yicksburg, she saw two 
men bring in a youth of nineteen, entirely deliri- 
ous. On seeing her he cried out at the top of his 
voice, "Mother, mother, my dear, dear mother, 
come to me." As Aunt Lizzie passed down the 
ward to meet him, one of his comrades, with his arm 
in a sling, whispered to her, "Call him Tommy, 
call him Tommy, that's his name." Persuaded in 
his delirious fancy that it was really his mother, 
the sick youth clasped his arms round Aunt Liz- 
zie's neck and cried out, 

" Boys, boys, didn't I tell you that I would see 
my mother before I died." 


Aunt Lizzie sought to quiet him. " Be com- 
posed, mj son," she said, " I have many comforts 
here — I will take care of you." 

As she helped lay him on his cot, his first word 
was, " Mother, now won't you kneel down and pray 
softly as j'ou did when I went away ?" Dropping 
on her knees beside his cot, as his own widowed 
mother might have done, this childless mother laid 
him tenderly on the bosom of his God. During 
the night he grew weaker and weaker, and as Aunt 
Lizzie came to sit by him he said, " Sing me Sister 
Hattie's tune." "Which one, my son?" asked 
Aunt Lizzie. It proved to be one with which she 
was familiar, and together they sang, 

" Come unto me, when shadows darkly gather, 
When thy tired heart is weary and distressed 
Seeking the comfort of thy heavenly Father, 
Come unto me and I will give thee rest." 

He carried his part in a sweet, clear, rich tone, 
that sounded like a voice from another world, as it 
rang through the room in the silent midnight. 
The whole ward lifted up their heads and listened. 
All night long Aunt Lizzie sat by him. After a 
time he became blind, and at intervals cried out, 
"Mother are you liere, don't let me die alone," 
when she would lay her hand on him and assure 
him that she was still beside him. As the morn- 
ing sunlight came streaming into the windows, he 


peacefully fell asleep in death, without a sigh, still 
under the delusion that his mother was near him. 

The boat that arrived at Memphis at nine o'clock 
that same mornino^ brono^ht his own mother from 
Ohio. She hastened to the surgeon's office to read 
the list of the dead, but the Major's heart was too 
full of tenderness for him to allow her to do so. He 
could not even announce to her the painful fact that 
her son lay robed for the grave by other hands than 
her own. He accordingly dispatched an orderly 
for Aunt Lizzie to come. She led the poor mother, 
whose fears were all confirmed by the manner of 
her reception, into the hall and gently told her that 
her son was safe in the arms of Jesus. She could 
not rest a moment until she went across the road to 
the morgue. There laj^ thirty of the dead in rows 
along the sides of the room. Aunt Lizzie quietly 
lifted the sheet from the marble face, and was filled 
with astonishment and admiration at the calmness 
and resignation of the mother. As she stood and 
looked at her darling she said, " God is my support 
in this trial. For two long years. Madam, in my 
dreams I have seen my dear boy wounded, disfig- 
ured, dying on the battle-field, but now he looks so 
like himself and so peaceful that death is robbed of 
half its sting," She kissed the still face, and then 
turning to Aunt Lizzie drew her closely to her 
heart and said, " How I love you, how I love jou." 


That same evening she left Memphis taking with 
her the dead body of her son, and a gratitude and 
friendship for Aunt Lizzie that could only end with 
her life. 

In one of the wards lay a boy who was very 
homesick. It often happened that those who were 
only slightly wounded were dev^oured by this long- 
ing to see their friends and their distant homes. 
Cases have been known where men have died from 
no other cause. As day after day passed by, and 
the young soldier grew no better, the doctor began 
to feel uneasy about him. It seemed wholly un- 
necessary that he should die from the sheer effects 
of imagination. Meeting Aunt Lizzie in the hall, 
just after a discouraging visit to his patient, the 
physician said to her, •' I will give you a dollar if 
you can make that young fellow smile. I believe 
it would save his life." She playfully answered, 
"01 can do it for less than that." And so she did 
in a manner quite unexpected even to herself. The 
next morning, she needed water in the diet room, 
and stepped into the next ward to call some one to 
get it. The homesick boy lay close to the door, 
looking as sad and forlorn as might well be. She 
called out hurriedly to him, " My boy, speak to that 
fellow with that gray shirt, to call to that boy with 
the red shirt, to cry out to that fellow with the white 
shirt there, to tell that boy with that cap, to speak 


to that man with the hat, and tell him I want a pail 
of water in two minutes." The absurdity of the 
message was too much for the gravity of any one, 
and in spite of his determination never to be happy 
again, the sick boy broke out into a fit of laughter 
that could hardly be restrained all day. Whenever 
he thought of that pail of water, he laughed im- 
moderately. The next morning the doctor found 
him still laughing, and in blank astonishment asked 
"What on earth does this mean?" The patient 
went on to describe the scene to him, telling him 
what a funny woman Aunt Lizzie was, and how she 
would get anything done that she wanted, under all 
circumstances. The doctor shared in his opinion, 
went at once to find Aunt Lizzie, and insisted upon 
paying the dollar. " You have full^y earned it Aunt 
Lizzie," he said, " for my patient is rapidly recov- 
ing:." The dollar no doubt went the wav of most 
of Aunt Lizzie's dollars, and was spent in procur- 
ing some little luxury, not in the hospital stores, 
which some poor sick man craved. 

Another of her tact cures was that of the head- 
surgeon of the hospital. Years afterwards at an 
army re-union in Wisconsin, he told the story in 
this wise: He was very ill and one morning sent 
for Aunt Lizzie to come and visit him. When she 
arrived he complained to her that he could procure 
nothing fit to eat, adding, " If I only had my 


mother here, she would fix up something that I 
could relish." Aunt Lizzie pretended to take this 
speech quite to heart. " Don't you suppose," said 
she, " that I can cook as well as your mother? I 
will bring you up a dish as nice as anything she can 
fix; but I don't want to cook for nothing, I must 
have your promise that you will eat whatever I 
fetch you." After some hesitation, as he really had 
no appetite, he promised to try and and dispose of 
whatever she might cook. 

Going into the diet room, she happened to see a 
salt cod-fish hanging up in the corner, and remem- 
bered having heard old physicians say that it was 
the best thing to restore the appetite of patients, 
who had lost the tone of their stomachs. She cut 
ofi" the tail, and roasted it in front of the fire, then 
served it up with butter, crackers and a couple of 
jokes. Either the salt, or the cheerful face that ac- 
companied it, made it palatable, and to use the sur- 
geon's own words: Aunt Lizzie saved his life with 
a codfish tail. 

The State Committees of the Sanitary Commis- 
sion sent special agents to the hospitals South, in 
charge of stores. The Ohio agent came one morn- 
ing to Adams Block. While engaged in his tour 
of inspection through the hospital, he came into a 
room where the windows were all thrown open for 
air. A dying man lay close by one of them, gasp- 


ing for ?jreath. Aunt Lizzie sat bj' him, fanning 
him gently and singing " Jesus, Lover of mj soul." 
The ward-master saw a young officer riding up tlie 
street, and suggested to the agent that he should 
stand one side and witness the scene that would 
shortly occur. The young soldier rode on a most 
beautiful black horse, the gift of his uncle, and was 
dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant. He was 
the favorite nephew of a colonel, who, when he met 
Aunt Lizzie, often said: "Whatever happens to 
me, take care of my boy." And indeed there was 
good reason for this fondness. The young soldier 
had been carefully educated, and was noble both in 
his appearance and his daily life. He had taken a 
great fancy to Aunt Lizzie, and whenever he was 
ordered off, came to bid her good-bye. Nine times 
already had he come to ask her blessing, and receive 
a word of Christian encouragement, or a little book 
to read on the march. This very afternoon he had 
begged leave of absence, saying to his uncle: "Let 
me go, just an instant, to get Aunt Lizzie's God 
bless you." 

As he rode up, she looked out of the window and 
saw him coming. She knew his errand before he 
spoke, so leaning out she cried, " God bless you, 
my boy, once again, fight like a man," 

" Aunt Lizzie," said he, " do you see that battal- 
ion over there by the ravine? Those are our men, 


we are ordered off at once. I could not go without 
saying good-bye to you," 

"That is right my son," answered she, "God be 
with you, don't be a coward. God bless you once 
again." As he rode off she called after him, "Don't 
be shot in the back." 

" Never, Aunt Lizzie, never," he cried, turning 
and touching to her his cavalry hat with its long, 
sweeping, black plume. In a minute he was out of 
sight, and Aunt Lizzie, with a prophetic thought of 
evil, leaned her head on the sill, and wept as if part- 
ing from her own son. 

The next evening, at sundown, the long train of 
ambulances brought in the wounded from the fight. 
The dead were carried into the basement and laid 
on shelves, in ice, till they could be buried. As 
Aunt Lizzie was superintending the care of the 
wounded, an assistant came up to her and said, 
" Aunt Lizzie, your boy is down there," pointing to 
the basement. " Which one?" she asked. It was 
the young lieutenant whom she had blessed from the 
window the day before. He was coming into town 
with fifty prisoners in charge, when he was shot by 
an ambuscade. The assassins who slew him had 
plundered his body of everything of any value, 
killed his horse, and with a pistol had blown off hia 
face after he was dead. Aunt Lizzie, remembering 
his uncle's charge, went down as soon as possible to 


attend to his poor body. She found the form tiiat 
but yesterday she had seen so instinct with life and 
hope, pinned up in a blanket, and riddled by eleven 
bullets. She carefully washed off the blood and 
combed out the matted hair, and as she worked her 
indignation grew. In this one dead soldier she 
saw, as it were, all the victims of a mad ambition 
robbed, disfigured, dead. 

It was about this time that Aunt Lizzie received 
from the Soldiers' Aid Societies of Brim field and 
Peoria large quantities of jam and preserved fruits, 
and, greatest luxury of all, a barrel of fresh butter. 
The very next day the remnants of an Ohio regi- 
ment came up the river, very much worn, and were 
sent ashore for a few hours. They were waiting fur- 
ther orders in the convalescent ward of the hospital 
at Adams Block, when Aunt Lizzie heard of their 
arrival. Knowing that they must be very hungrj'', 
she ordered a quantity of fresh bread from the hos- 
pital bakery. Her barrel of butter was wheeled 
into the room, and standing by the door, she handed 
to each of those six hundred men a good thick slice 
of bread and butter covered with jam, as they filed 
out to take the boat again. Many were the jokes 
and the compliments paid to her and the ladies at 
home. " Never tasted anything so good in my 
life," said one. " It's just like what my mother 
used to give me when I was a good boy," laughed 


another. " Hurrah for Aunt Lizzie!" cried they 
all as they passed out of the door. They went 
cheerfully on their way, and in a few minutes the 
empty jam-pots and the half-empty barrel were all 
that showed that they had been in Memphis at all. 

The month of August was full of great trials and 
sorrow to Aunt Lizzie. On the third day of that 
month her brother Bertrand died at Cavendish. 
He had returned to the old home with his mother, 
but the effort had been too great for his failing 
strength, and in ten days he quietly passed away. 

In this month, also. Colonel David Irons died at 
Nashville, Tennessee. 

To these depressing events were added other 
things that made this month of August one of the 
severest during Aunt Lizzie's army service. The 
heat was intense; the hospital had been refilled with 
sick from Vicksburg, and many of the nurses gave 
out utterly under the renewed burden, so Mother 
and Aunt Lizzie had, at times, to do double duty. 

How determined and faithful they were may be 
shown by a little incident mentioned in a letter: 
Aunt Lizzie scalded her right hand so badly by 
spilling boiling chocolate over it that the skin was 
destroyed, and she could not use it for three weeks. 
Still, during that time, she was never absent from 
her post, and assisted Mother Sturgis to fill the places 
of four of the other nurses who were absent. 


In November, Mrs. Stiirgis was called home to 
Peoria by the severe illness of her daughter Annie, 
who soon after died. Thus was Aunt Lizzie depri ved 
for mouths of her most faithful co-worker, and her 
most intimate friend. 

The loyal ladies of Memphis formed themselves 
into a '' Union League," on the eighteenth of No- 
vember, with the the wife of Major Robb at their 
head. In addition to all their other labors for the 
soldiers, these ladies began to work for a Sanitary fair. 
Some time before they had started an impromptu 
flower-mission. The dreary wards of the hospitals 
were supplied with fresh flowers, bushels of which 
were sent every morning. Every available corner 
of table or shelf was adorned by the most lovely 
bouquets. Tin cans, that had held preserved fruits, 
or condensed milk, took the place of vases, and 
were easily made to pass for such, being hidden by 
a drapery of luxuriant vines. Many a loyal woman, 
who had nothing else to give, brought the choicest 
of her flowers, the sweetest roses, the purest mag- 
nolias, the most fragrant myrtle, that by their silent 
beauty they might help men to sufl'er and to die. 

In February 1864, fifteen thousand cavalry left 
Memphis on a raid through Mississippi, the Sixth 
Illinois, Aunt Lizzie's own regiment, taking the 
lead. The soldiers flocked to the hospital by hun- 
dreds to bid her good-bye, leaving their photographs 


with her for fear they might never return, and 
begging her to stay in Memphis at least four 
months longer, that they might have the satisfac- 
tion of feeling that if wounded they could be sent 
back to her for care. Aunt Lizzie, standing like a 
mother in the midst of the crowd, assured them 
that if God sustained her, she would surely remain 
until their return. The staff officers of the reo-i- 
ment, anxious to give her a substantial token of 
affectionate regard, presented her, before they left, 
with a gold watch and chain, and an album contain- 
ing all their photographs. The general gave her, 
at the same time, a handsome black dress, which was 
certainly the most welcome gift that she could re- 
ceive. In spite of the kindness of the ladies at home. 
Aunt Lizzie often found it very difficult to procure 
all necessary articles of clothing, and to pay for 
washing out of a salary of twelve dollars a month, 
and even that very irregularly paid. 

Yery many of these familiar faces she never saw 
again. Before the month closed, a long train of 
ambulances brought a hundred and fifty wounded 
to Adams Block, some of them the very boys who 
had bidden her good-bye but a few days before. 
They brought the sad news that five of their officers 
had been killed in a desperate fight on the Talla- 
hatchee, all dying wathin twenty-five minutes of 
each other. How great a blessing Aunt Lizzie was 


to those who were happy enough to reach Memphis 
alive, is best expressed by the words of one of them, 
a boy of nineteen, who died the next day, dinging 
to her hand as he went down into the dark valley: 
" Dear Aunt Lizzie," he said again and again, 
"what a comfort to have you sit beside me, to feel 
tliat I shall not die alone." After lying quite still 
for some minutes, he said, looking up very earnestly 
into her face, "Aunt Lizzie, may you not want 
some kind friend to comfort you when you die." 
She answered, "My son, God will provide." His 
eyes filling with tears, he said, " How much that 
sounds like my own dear mother's voice, tell my 
mother all," and died. 

In the early spring, troops having been sent from 
Yicksburg to join the Red River Expedition, West 
Tennessee and Kentucky were left exposed to the 
attacks of the rebels. General Forrest, of the Con- 
federate army, started with five thousand men to 
take Paducah, but was repulsed. He next attacked 
Fort Pillow, and took it by surprise. Then followed 
the cruel slaughter of helpless prisoners that has 
made the name of Forrest infamous. Some of the 
few who survived were brought to Memphis, and 
enlisted Aunt Lizzie's greatest sympathy by their 
deplorable condition, riddled with pistol-shots, and 
slashed by sabres. Her special ward was filled with 
wounded, and the most desperate cases were turned 


over to her by the surgeons, who had learned to 
depend upon her skill and faithfulness. 

The thoughts that passed through her mind con- 
tinually during these dark days are best expressed 
by herself in a letter to her friend, Mrs. Irons. She 

'* There is so much to be done, so much need of more being 
done, so many sad hearts all about me to be cheered, so many 
broken spirits to be lifted tenderly and bound up lovingly, such 
great dark errors, such hungry, wolfish sorrows all about me, 
to be struggled with and conquered for myself, as well as my 
brother soldiers, that I feel I cannot make a play-day of one 
single day in which God gives me the glorious privilege of 
living. * * * * I deem my mission one of the holiest ever 
entrusted to mortals. I am content to work in a humble sphere, 
not forgetting that though I may not be the swift flovring river, 
I may be a drop or portion of it, which is pouring its blessings 
out upon suffering humanity. * * * * What rich, tender, 
happy, yet sad experiences I have had during my almost three 
years of service. I see grim-visaged war sit with frowning 
brow, holding his dripping sword, which has caused rivers of 
blood to flow'on the battle-field, and deeper rivers of anguish 
from broken hearts and desolate firesides; what Spartan-like 
giving up of household idols, what noble acts of devotion and 
sacrifice of self! My sister, we are making up the leaves of a 
glorious history, and I thank God, woman is writing her golden 
sentences upon its pages." 

In August the Union soldiers in Memphis re- 
ceived several months' pay, a very large amount of 
money. General Forrest, hearing of this, deter- 
mined to confiscate at least a part of it for his own 


needy army. The Irving Block Prison was full of 
rebel prisoners, who doubtless knew of his coming 
and were ready to join his band the moment he 
conld reach them. He swept down upon Memphis, 
unexpectedly to its defenders, and succeeded in 
penetrating into the city. He pillaged the Gay- 
osa Hospital, and started to liberate the prisoners. 
Aunt Lizzie, hearing the noise, leaned out of a third 
story window in Adams Block, and saw the Union 
soldiers, who were drawn up on the roof of the 
prison, shoot the rebels in the street, who were striv- 
ing to force their way into the well-guarded doors 
of the building. A crowd of people, " cowards," 
Aunt Lizzie styles them, pressed down the street 
toward the river. Looking up, one after another 
recognized her, and called to her to escape, or the 
rebels would shoot her head off if she stood looking 
out at the fight. " Let them sboot," she cried, in 
a state of great excitement, " I will look." 

A call for Aunt Lizzie, however, made her turn 
her attention to the hospital. There were eleven 
hundred sick and wounded in Adams Block, and 
it was thought best to send the women, and the 
patients able to be moved, across the river for safety. 
The idea occurred at once to one of the soldiers, that 
they had better put their watches and money, into 
the hands of the ladies. Aunt Lizzie and Mother 
Sturo;is stood at either end of the halls and received 


the valuables that were passed to them. The money 
was rolled up in packages, with full directions on 
each, — name, regiment, state and post office; so that 
if the owners were killed or captured, their property 
could be sent to their Iriends. 

Aunt Lizzie received as her share fifty- seven 
watches, which she fastened to a belt and strapped 
around her waist. The money, amounting to 
several thousand dollars, she put into a large inside 
pocket. It was understood that she and the other 
nurses were to be sent immediately across the river, 
to a place of safety. But just as she was descending 
the stairs, an orderly rushed up with news that the 
colonel of her own regiment lay, badly wounded in 
a skirmish with the raiders, about a mile from the 

In a moment all the fifty-seven ticking watches, 
the money and her own safety, were forgotten, and 
she resolved to go and care for him. At the door 
of the hospital, she found an Irishman standing by 
a lumbering old carryall. He had evidently been 
sent to take her and Mrs. Sturgis to the boat, but 
she determined to use him for her own purposes. 

" Pat, "she said, in as broad a brogue as she could 
command, " there's a lad down there badly wounded, 
and I'm after going to see liim, how much will you 
take me for?" 

Pat quite delighted to find, as he thought, one of 


his own countrywomen in the hospital, pulled off 
his hat, gallantly replied tliat " sorra a cent would 
he be after taking," and helped her into the carry- 
all in fine style. 

Hardly had they started, when she realized her 
thoughtlessness in thus entrusting herself and all her 
boys' property to the care of an entire stranger. In 
great fear lest he should hear the ticking of the 
watches, she began to talk to him. He, nothing 
loath, kept up the conversation. "And how long 
may you have been in this country?" he asked. 

" About three years, sir," she answered. 

"And do you live near here?" was the next ques- 

" No, indeed," she replied, " I came down from 
the North, to take care of the boys in the army." 

Then she asked him if he had a family, for he 
seemed so delighted with her that she feared he 
might undertake to make love to her. 

" Arrah, yes," he said, he had a wife and three 
children, " and would she come and see them?" 

"Some other day," she answered, "now I must 
go and attend to the poor wounded lad." 

Fortunately for Aunt Lizzie, the rebels were so 
fully occupied in Memphis that she encountered no 
stragglers of their army. She found the Colonel 
severely wounded and rapidly sinking from loss of 
blood. When she began staunching the wound 


with lint, he looked up in great joy and surprise, 
" O, Aunt Lizzie," said he, " how did you get to 

"Never mind now," answered she, "only drink 
this brandy, so that we can carry you to headquar- 
ters." She found a couple of men, who placed him 
on a litter, and she walked back to town-by his side, 
holding his hand to help him bear the great pain 
of being moved. When in the dusk of evening they 
passed slowly through the streets of Memphis, they 
found the place comparatively quiet, Forrest had 
been driven out, and order restored. In a short 
time all the watches were ticking under the pillows 
of their owners, who had never left the hospital, 
and the money was safely deposited where it be- 

The next evening, Aunt Lizzie accompanied the 
Colonel to the boat, gave into the hands of his at- 
tendant a bottle of wine, and one of beef tea that 
she had prepared for him, and bade him farewell. 
She never saw him again. He had received his 
death-wound, and but for her rash courage and 
humanity probably would have expired on the field 
before help could reach him. As it was, he lingered 
a short time in his home at Jacksonville, Illinois, 
and died surrounded by his family. 

A few days after this. Aunt Lizzie's Irish friend 
came to the hospital in search of her. He wished 


to take her to make a visit at his house. He in- 
quired of the head surgeon for the Irish woman 
who lived there. 

" Mj good fellow," replied the surgeon, " there 
is no such person here." 

" Ah, but there is; jou can't cheat me; didn't I 
drive her myself from the door of this very house? " 

Mother Sturgis overheard tlie altercation, and 
came running into the ward where Aunt Lizzie was 
busy. "Come quickly," she cried, "here is your 
Pat looking after you, and he will be very angry if 
he finds that you are not Bridget, after all." They 
hid her away in a linen closet, since the man insist- 
ed upon hunting through the wards for the woman 
who had talked so pleasantly to him. Finally, the 
clerk and the surgeon fairly drove him off, and he 
probably has never found out who Bridget was, to 
this day. 

In September Aunt Lizzie left Memphis on her 
long promised visit to Peoria and Vermont. The 
officers of her regiment procured her a veteran's 
furlough of sixty days, and a railroad pass to Peo- 
ria. "Wearied with her long service, she at first 
thought that after her visit was ended she would 
apply for permission to serve in a more ISTorthern 
hospital, where her duties would be less arduous. 
She was, however, entreated by the officers of the 
Sanitary Commission in Memphis, and by the hos- 


pital surgeons, to return. Colonel Robb, the Illi- 
nois Sanitary Agent, wrote: 

^^ Dear Aunt Lizzie: — Hearing to-day that you were on the 
point of returning to your home in Peoria, I could not refrain 
from expressing the deep regret we all feel at your leaving us, 
after the long, pleasant intercourse we have enjoyed here. Yet 
the loss your friends will meet with will be but slight compared 
with that of the suffering men you leave behind you at Adams 
Block Hospital. Sadly indeed will they miss the cool hand on 
their burning brows, the kind and sympathizing word, when 
struggling with death or slowly returning to health. Still, we 
should not complain, for after the long and efficient services 
you have devoted to ihese brave men and your country, at the 
sacrifice of your comfort and home, I can but say, God bless 
you, and God speed you. 

" Very truly and sincerely your friend, 

"T. P. RoBB, Col. and Agent." 

The Special Relief Agent of the U. S. Sanitary 
Commission, the Military Agents of Indiana and 
Iowa, the Superintendent of the United States Gen- 
eral Hospital at Memphis, the chaplain and surgeon 
of her own hospital, all with one impulse wrote 
declaring that her departure will be a serious loss 
to Adams Block Hospital, where, for a year and 
eight months, she had been like a Christian mother 
to multitudes of our brave soldiers. 

The Ohio Military Agent, determined if possible 

to keep her in Memphis, wrote as follows to the 

President of the Western Sanitary Commission: 

Jas. E. Yeatman, Esq., 
Sib: From an acquaintance of something over a year with 


Mrs. Aiken, acting Matron of the Adams Hospital in Memphis, 
I am decidedly of the opinion that the interests of the hospi!al 
service require that she be retained in her present poiition at 
this point. 

True, her frankness of manner and " winning' ways" would 
soon gain her friends wherever she might go. It however takes 
time to acquire the confid mce she has here of all who have to 
do with the sick in hospitals 

She is conspicuous among the few who have any aptness for 
such service, adapting herself alike to all. 

I trust and hope there will be no move looking to her trans- 
fer to another place. 

Respectfully yours, 

F. W. Bingham. 

Under sucli a pressure of appreciation and regard, 
what could Aunt Lizzie do but promise to return 
and remain with her friends till the close of the war? 

Her stay at Peoria was by no means one of un- 
broken rest and recreation. Hers was not a nature 
that could easily drop all thought of the sufferers 
she had left behind. Soi'ely worn as she was, she 
commenced at once to visit the towns about Peoria, 
gather together the women, and give a recital of 
hospital incidents. Slie asked for no money, but 
at the close of her affecting addresses an impromptu 
collection for the hospital was called for by the 
audience. In this way she raised seven hundred 
dollars before she left the West. 

The ladies of the Peoria Loyal League sent her 
on to Yermont to visit her mother. Like most of 
those who give their all for the privilege of minis- 


tering to the suffering of our race, she was then, 
as ever, cared for. Even the pleasures of life are 
not wanting as part of the reward of faithful, self- 
sacrificing service. Aunt Lizzie has all her life 
found that practically the sentiment is true, 

" There was a man, though some did think him mad, 
The more he gave away, the more he had." 

And so Aunt Lizzie, who had often spent her last 
cent for the comfort of a wounded soldier, still had 
the wish of her heart, and was permitted to go 
home once more and see her beloved mother, from 
whom she had been separated for eleven long years. 

Tiiree weeks of entire rest were spent in Caven- 
dish. After her experience in the heat, noise and 
confusion of two summers at Memphis, nothing 
could have been more grateful than the quiet cool- 
ness of the little New England town. Here, too, 
she was far from the questions that disturbed other 
parts of the country. As she spoke at Cavendish, 
in behalf of her soldiers, it seemed to her that even 
the leaves of the trees, as they whispered in the 
breeze, spoke messages of loyalty and cheer. 

She made a number of "sanitary addresses" in 
the neighboring towns and was received everywhere 
with appreciative enthusiasm. 

At the close of her visit to Yermout, the loyal 
ladies of New Hampshire sent for her to give them 
reports of the hospital work in the Southwest. 


She went with alacrity, since the call gave her not 
only the opportunity of making collections for her 
patients, but also of seeing her husband. He was at 
that time in the care of some relatives in New Hamp- 
shire, and Aunt Lizzie hoped that she might iind 
him in improved health. But she was doomed to 
the bitterest disappointment. When she arrived at 
the house where he stayed, he did not recognize her, 
but received her as a stranger. No explanations 
seemed to brino- her to his clouded remembrance. 
She was obliged to content lierself with watching 
him through the window. The sight of his utter 
forgetfulness of her, filled her heart with such grief 
that she never again has submitted herself to the 
same trial. For many years she has faithfully per- 
formed her duty to him, so far as lies in her power. 
She has reversed the usual order of things and pro- 
vided out of her salary for his maintainance. But 
this she could not do if she assumed the personal 
care of a helpless invalid, more unreasonable than 
a child. 

The latter part of October, Aunt Lizzie returned 
to Memphis by way of Peoria, refreshed by the jour- 
ney and strengthened for her work. She had raised 
in all about one thousand dollars for hospital stores. 
During her second visit in Peoria, she consulted 
with the Ladies of the Loyal League, and made 
arrangements for a grand Thanksgiving dinner, 


which she wished to give her patients; especially 
those in the convalescent wards. She also bought 
a boat-load of potatoes, butter and eggs, to take back 
with her. 

This Thanksgiving dinner proved a great success. 
Aunt Lizzie turned cook for the occasion, set to work 
in the diet room, and made three hundred pies. 
She had all the materials, large stone crocks of 
mince-meet, and a barrel of butter; forty puddings 
and two hundred and fifty chickens, besides turkeys 
in abundance, were also provided. 

In December, Aunt Lizzie writes; "Mother 
Sturgis and myself never worked harder in our lives. 
We have been able to draw no new clothing for our 
patients this fall, and we have had some very cold 
weather. Every leisure moment we spend in darn- 
ing and patching old socks and mending old flannel 

In January, 1865, Aunt Lizzie's health gave way 
imder the pressure of her severe labors, and she was 
transferred from Adams Block, to the Washington, 
Hospital. Her talent for arrangement, and her 
well-known executive ability, led to this change. 
Mrs. Sturgis was left at Adams Block till April. 
In her new position Aunt Lizzie was assigned 
lighter duties, especially the care of the linen room. 
When she arrived, she found the patients still 
drinking their coffee from tin cups, and eating 


their meals from the same metal. She quickly 
revolutionized the domestic arrangements of the 
hospital and introduced, as she had at Adams 
Block, white china. It is wonderful how great a 
difference so slight a change made in the quiet and 
comfort of the wards. The appetite of the patients 
revived when their food was served in a home-like 

Her life at the "Washington Hospital comes out 
in a letter written during the spring: 

" Dear Mrs. Blanchard: 

" Amid the greatest confusion, and in the greatest liurry, I 
seat myself to acknowledge the receipt of your box, which came 
to hand last week. Nothing could have been more timely, for 
we had just received a boat-load of sick from Eastport. Poor 
fellows, they hud had nothing but boiled corn during several 
days to subsist on. Just imagine how they enjoyed the hot 
buttered toast. We made three hundred slices the first meal. 
Nothing could have proved so great a luxury as the butter. 
The socks were immediately put to good use, and the shii-ts, 
Mother Hathaway's shirts, I took into the ward, and told the 
boys I was going to move that we vote who was most in need 
of the shirts; they all cried out, 'Uncle Billy.' I went up to 
him. and found him an old man of sixty years. * * * * 

" Three hundred shirts, all wanting mending, have just come 
in from the laundry, so I will write no more this time." 

Here, as everywhere, she was idolized by the sol- 
diers. The sister of one who had gone home to 
die, in describing his last days, writes these touch- 
ing words: 


"Aunt Lizzie, I don't think that there was one person who 
came in to see bim as long as he was able to talk, but he spoke 
of you to them, always declaring that he believed you to be the 
best woman living. Oh how often have I heard that dear voice 
that is now hushed in death, speaking in such high terms of 
your noble qualities. One night he was delirious, and every 
time he wanted anything he called on you to bring it to him. 
It seemed that he thought you were waiting on him and right 
by his side, for every little while he called out, ' Oh, Aunt Liz- 
zie, 1 want a drink, please bring me a drink.' Dear Aunt 
Lizzie, we shall ever gratefully remember you for your kind- 

This is but a sample of extracts that mi^ht be 
made from scores of letters written bj relatives of 
those to whom Aunt Lizzie ministered with the 
greatest devotion. 

Her "soldier boys" fully appreciated her care, 
and strove in many ways to express their regard. 
One day they noticed tliat she was almost bare- 
footed. Her shoes were all worn out, and no 
'money was in her purs3 to buy more. Several of 
the soldiers contributed from their scanty store 
and surprised her with an elegant pair of new 

The following characteristic sentences deserve 
copying. They were accompanied by a present 
of various articles calculated to please a lady — a 
pearl portfolio, gold pen, scrap-book and ivory 
memorandum tablets: 

"We, the undersigned, agree to pay the amount opposite 
our names, for the purpose of getting Aunt Lizzie a present, 


in order to show our gratitude, love, respect, and friendship 
for her, for her sympathy, kindness, respect, love, anxit ty, 
good attention and mo herly care toward us, and other sick, 
wounded and well soldiers. We believe her to be a good, pat- 
riotic, and Union lady, a friend of the soldiers and our country. 
She therefore merits a tribute of respect from us, to show our 
gratitude toward her for her kindness." 

In April, word was received in Memphis, that the 
steamer "Sultana" was on her way up the river, 
with nineteen hundred discharged Union prisoners 
and four hundred other passengers on board. When 
it was understood that she would stop for a few 
hours at Memphis, the loyal citizens of the place 
prepared a sumptuous supper for the poor soldiers, 
who had been half starved during the last fifteen 
months. The artillery was drawn up in line on 
the river bank and saluted the boat as she swung 
to shore; the crowd cheered, and the afternoon 
was spent in congratulations and feasting. The 
war was ended, and all the soldiers in Memphis 
were expecting soon to follow in the wake of the 
" Sultana," up the river, home. 

Just at dusk the refreshed party started, amid 
renewed cheers and the booming of cannon. But 
about two o'clock in the morning Aunt Lizzie was 
awakened by a cry that, accustomed as she was to 
the groans of the wounded, and the screams of de- 
lirium, struck her with terror, a confused noise, a 
cry of anguish, the most dreadful she had ever 


heard. At once she perceived that some shocking 
event must be transpiring, and she sprang to wake 
Mrs. Sturg's. Then, throwing on a shawl, she ran 
through the rooms where the girls slept, and bade 
them rise and dress as quickly as possible, for some- 
thing fearful was coming. Before she reached her 
own room again, the great gong sounded the signal 
for every person in the bnilding to go on duty, and 
news ran throus^h the halls that the '"Sultana" had 
exploded, some distance up the river, and that the 
stream was full of drowned and drowning men. In 
company with half the inhabitants of the city. Aunt 
Lizzie rushed to the bank. There an appalling sight 
met their eyes. The whole river was alive with 
liuman beings, scalded and drowning; hundreds 
were hanging to pieces of timber, the banks were 
strewn for miles with the dead, and from the whole 
struggling, suffering mass went up a heart-rending 
cry that froze the blood of thos3 who heard it. 
Blankets were spread on the sand, and the victims 
were drawn out of the water as they floated past. 
Many of them were so badly scalded that the mo- 
ment the air touched their bodies, the intolerable 
anguish drove them back into the river, and they 
were lost. But hundreds were rolled up in the 
blankets, and taken to the hospitals. ■ 

After a few ambulance loads had been carried to 
her hospital, Aunt Lizzie went to prepare pailfuls 


of liniment for the burned. She had personal 
cliargeof a hundred poor fellows, and tended them 
through days and nights of suffering that cannot 
be described. 

Great as was Aunt Lizzie's devotion to the bodily 
wants of her patients, such care M'as but a trifle 
compared with her anxiety and love for their souls. 
As an entire orchestra often plays softly an accom- 
paniment to the clear notes of a melodious human 
voice, each instrument executing perfectly its part, 
but all subordinate to the one aim of enhancing the 
beauty of the song, so every little act of kindness, 
every sympathetic word, was made but the accom- 
paniment to an unceasing message of peace and 
forgiveness from God. 

When twilight brought a lull in the labors of 
the day, before the anguish and dangers of the night 
began, Aunt Lizzie seized upon the qniet hour to 
distribute her little hymn-books, and sing the songs 
of a better life. With Mrs. Sturgis and her dauffh- 
ter she led the mnsic, while the words of faith and 
comfort were caugjit up b}' many a trembling voice. 
Sometimes even the dying joined in the song, and 
passed away with words of Christian triumph on 
their lips. 

We have already noticed instances of the fervor 
and efficacy of her prayers. Many now doing good 
work for the Lord, date back their conversion to the 


hospital cot, and Aunt Lizzie's fervent supplica- 
tions. She stood as a "Mother in Israel" iu the 
hospital, comforting the sorrowing soul as well as 
soothing the aching head. One of her co-laborers 
writes: "Light and joy came to sad and weary 
hearts when Aunt Lizzie's step was heard. Her 
words of cheer, her delicate appreciation of her sol- 
dier boy's wants, as if a mother thought what she 
could best do for a dear son, the deep waking of 
soul-lite, as by song and prayer she asked Jesus to 
bear their sorrows, and the Comforter to heal their 
broken spirits, will never be fully known, till the 
stars in her crown shall be shown, when Christ's 
words of commendation shall be spoken.'* 



In June, 1865, the M^ar being happily over, the 
hospitals were broken up, and Aunt Lizzie left 
Memphis for Peoria. The work, which had occu- 
pied so fully both heart and hands during three 
years and a half, was finished. With the necessity 
for such work, her strength also departed, and it 
was only by the greatest care on the part of Mother 
Sturgis, who accompanied her, that she was able to 
reach Peoria at all. In this emergency the sol- 
diers, of whom a thousand were sent North on the 
same boat, had some small opportunity to return 
her many favors. They carried her from the boat 
to the cars, and exhibited the solicitude of sons for 
the welfare of a beloved mother. 

Her old friend, Mrs. Irons, received her gladly at 
Peoria, — alas! Aunt Lizzie had no home of her 
own, — and with the tenderest love ministered to 
her wants as she lay ill for weeks. Nothing, at 
that period of utter exhaustion and weakness, saved 
her life but her own composure and resignation to 


the will of God, joined to the sisterly care of her 

As she began to grow a little stronger, the ques- 
tion of her future recurred. When on the journey 
from Memphis, she had been drawn into conversa- 
tion by a stranger, a Christian gentleman, who ques- 
tioned her as to what she intended to do on her ar- 
rival home. " I have no plans for the future," she 
replied, " I return weary and ill to the graves of 
those I love. I have no home." 

" My dear madam," said he, " what hinders you 
from entering the missionary work?" 

Greatly surprised at his question, she answered 
that she was sure he could not be acquainted with 
her lack of qualifications, as a Christian woman, for 
such a work. 

" You are mistaken, madam," said he, " not only 
have 1 often heard of you, but I have myself watch- 
ed your hospital labors all through the war. Your 
army service has been the grandest school to pre- 
pare 3'ou for such Christian work." 

When during her convalescence she pondered on 
what she could do in the years that were yet before 
her, this question returned again and again to her 
mind, " What hinders you from entering into some 
kind of missionary labor?" She therefore decided 
quietly to wait and see what God would give her 
to do, persuaded that if he had work for her, the 
the way would surely be pointed out. 


In the early autumn sLe went to Cliicago to visit 
a friend, who had heard of her ill health, and in- 
vited her to come and make a long visit. The first 
breath of the bracing lake air seemed to invigorate 
the frame enervated bv the trying climate of the 

Six pleasant weeks were spent in rest and recrea- 
tion ; then her friend was suddenly called away from 
the city. She urged Aunt Lizzie to make her house 
her home for the winter, and left her in charge dur- 
ing her absence. But Aunt Lizzie conld not be 
content to remain. She felt that the time had come 
when she must begin to care for herself. She tried 
in every way to procure employment of some kind, 
but failed in all her efforts. At last one day, weary 
and discouraged, she returned to her room, and 
throwing herself on her knees, with many bitter 
tears, laid the case before her heavenly Father. 
She knew from long experience that here was her 
only refuge, and casting herself upon Almighty 
Love, she resolved to trust God for the future. 
With renewed strength she started out again on her 
search, when, distinctly, as if it had been suggested 
by some voice outside herself, came the thought that 
she had better apply to the editor of the " Stan- 
dard." Mr. Church received her with great kind- 
ness. She told him that after lookino' lons^ for some 
occupation, she had almost decided to take the only 


work which oifcred itself, that of folding papers in 
a printing office. 

"My dear Madam," he said, "you are qualified 
for some better position than that. Your many 
years of experience in Christian work should not 
be lost in tliis city, where such labors are so much 
needed. Let me give you a letter of introduction 
to Mrs. Everts, the wife of the pastor of the First 
Baptist Church. She is a lady who will appreciate 
your desire to serve the Master, and also will know 
of any opening that there may be in that direction." 

With a hopeful heart, Aunt Lizzie went imme- 
diately to call on Mrs. Everts, and met with a re- 
ception which relieved all her anxieties. Mrs. 
Everts listened to the story with the graceful cour- 
tesy which always distinguished her, and when it 
was finished, took both Aunt Lizzie's hands in hers, 
kissed her, saying with tears in her eyes, "God has 
surely sent you to me; I have work for you to do. 
Stay with me to lunch, and we will go this afternoon 
to visit the ' Erring Woman's Refuge.' I have long 
wanted a missionary to labor in connection with 
that institution, and you are the very one we need." 

Shortly a!ter, a meeting of ladies was called who 
oiFered Aunt Lizzie a home at the Refuge, and fifty 
dollars for three months' work, a remuneration 
manifestly so inadequate, that it was afterwards 
raised to twenty-five dollars a month, the salary to 


be paid bj the Youni? Men's Christian Association, 
in individual subscriptions. She, on her part, was 
to act as general city missionary, but was expected 
to do special work for the " Refuge." This place 
she continued to fill for two years, at the end of 
which time, the funds of the Board running low, it 
was deemed necessary to dispense with her services. 
Extracts from letters and her diary will best tell 
the story of that two years' work: 

"By coming to Chicago. I am introduced into anew chap- 
ter, in which every day teaches me most painful lessons. To- 
day has been so gloomy, dark and cloudy ! How drearily these 
autumn winds sweep over the prairies and through the long 
streets of this great city. The wi'hered leaves fly before them 
and whisper of decay and death. I draw my old beaver cloak 
more closely about me, and tie en my hood tightly, hastening 
home to a warm fireside ; but how is it with thousands in this 
city, who have no comfoi-table homes inviting their return, noth- 
ing but scanty garments to shield them from the cold blast? 
To-day 1 saw some little, half-clad, barefooted children gather- 
ing a few chips and pieces of boards, which some carpenters 
had left behind. Do they not feel the cold as much as I? 
Then I saw a poor, old woman bowed with age, canying her 
basket of waste sticks, she had gathered from the streets, to her 
cheerless garret. Feels she not in her old frame this piercing 
cold ? I see so many painful sights. Oue day I met a crippled 
soldier, his ragged blue uniform, witness of his noble daring, 
was aU the clothes he had. His good right aim had been given 
for his country. Does the glory of having fought in defense of 
his country make him warm? Does it chase away the look of 
sorrow from the face of his discouraged wife ?" 

" Oct. 2'M, 1865. — My heavenly Father, Thou alone art able to 


help virtue triumpli over vice ; aid me, oh give me access to the 
hearts of those I meet. Oh Thou, who knowest my heart, give 
me the key to reach conscience", to rouse that blessed monitor 
within the human breast, and draw the erring from the paths 
of sin. Grant me the spirit of Jesus." 

A work commenced in such consecration to God, 
and sympathy for the poor and erring, conld not 
fail to be successfiih Wherever Aunt Lizzie went 
she made friends. Even tlie most degraded received 
her kindly, and wept, though too often with trans- 
ient repentance, while she prayed for them and en- 
treated them to leave their evil ways. Her co- 
laborers, during those two years at the " Refuge," 
speak of her arrival among them as a priceless bless- 
ing. One of them writes: " For two years she went 
out and came in, all the time sustaining the most 
lovely Christian character, which was of untold worth 
among the inmates of our ' Home.' To say that 
we loved her is tame and feeble. The cheer which 
she always brought with her was so welcome to us 
who had so many discouragements." 

Many interesting incidents of Aunt Lizzie's work 
as a missionary for the "Refuge" might be told. 
No one, not similarly employed, can dream of the 
o-reat hinderances acjainst which she strove in her 
endeavors to save souls. To her untiring zeal and 
exhaustless charity, many owe their return to a life 
of virtue. It is but due to them that their sad sto- 
ries shall be forever buried. God forbid that even 


the gliost of the past should arise on these pages to 
reproach them. 

The story of poor Minnie may, however, be tokl, 
for she is beyond all fear of crnel remembrances. 
She was a lovely orphan child of fifteen, witli long 
yellow curls and dark blue eyes, sent alone to the 
city by an aunt, thoughtless or ignorant of its dan- 
gers. She fell into wicked hands, and had not 
Christian principle enough to fly from the snares 
laid for her. Aunt Lizzie met her often on the 
street, or in the cars, and knowing her sin, tried in 
every way to persuade her to come to the " Refuge." 
At last, after long weeks of patient labor. Aunt Liz- 
zie had the satisfaction of bringing the erring child 
home with her. 

Though hard to win, Minnie gave herself up en- 
tirely to the friend who had sought her out. Once 
safe within the walls of the Eefuge, she seemed 
suddenly to realize the horror of the abyss from 
which she had been plucked, and throwing herself 
into Aunt Lizzie's arms she cried, " Oh save me, 
save me, I cling to you." " Poor, helpless child, " 
returned Aunt Lizzie, folding her closely to her 
heart, " poor, helpless child, indeed I will keep 
you. " With tender solicitude she represented the 
pitying Savior, standing even then ready to receive 
every penitent soul. " You may cling to him for 
safety, " she said, " he will forgive you and keep 


you as no earthly friend can. " The gospel thus 
lovintjjly preached was accepted with joy. Every 
day gave evidences of repentance and faith, and 
Aunt Lizzie rejoiced greatly over the lamb which 
she had found. 

But it soon became apparent that consumption 
had fastened itself upon the young girl; the blue eyes 
grew large and bright, and a rosy spot glowed on 
the fair cheek. As she became every day weaker, 
her beauty seemed ever to increase. At first she ad- 
ded much to the happiness of the hedged-in house- 
hold by her musical talent, but soon her feeble fin- 
gers forsook the keys. Morning and evening Aunt 
Lizzie spent a few minutes of devotion with her, 
and was delighted and surprised at the depth of her 
repentance and faith. After awhile she was too 
weak to leave her bed, and when she had been in 
Aunt Lizzie's care about ten months, she died. 
Her end was peace. All that last morning she laid 
with her head on a pillow on Aunt Lizzie's lap. 
As that kind friend laid her hand on the flaxen 
tresses which rippled over the pillow, Minnie 
opened her eyes and, looking up lovingly iato her 
face, said softlj', " I have had no mother, but you 
have been more than a mother to me." After a while 
she whispered in reply to Aunt Lizzie's anxious 
question, " I know I love the Savior; I know He has 
forgiven me. I know this because my soul trusts 


in Him." Then she quietly passed away to that 
land where there is no sorrow and no sin. 

Many tears were shed at the funeral, as Aunt Liz- 
zie, standing beside the beautiful clay, repeated stan- 
zas from Hood's Bridge of Sighs. 

•• Take her up tenderly, 

Litt her -with care; — 

Fashioned so slenderly, 

Young, and so fair! 
« 41 « « « * * 

•'Owning her weakness, 

Her evil behavior, 

And leaving, with meekness, 

Her sins to her Savior! " 

"My Father," writes Aunt Lizzie, in her diary, " oh help me 
not to weary over my tasks, not to faint under my burdens. 
My heavenly Father, permit no shadows from the wing of doubt 
to dim my eye of faith. Help me to work on in this noble call- 
ing, sending abroad on every passing breeze the winged germs 
that shall fall on good and honest hearts, in this great and 
wicked city." 

Monday. Jan. lAth, 1867. — Every day convinces me more that 
the world is not mine. Thank God it is not! It is dropping 
away from me like worn-out autumn leaves, but beneath it, 
hidden in it, there is another world, lying as the flower lies in 
the bud. That world is mine, and will burst forth by and by, 
into eternal luxuriance. 

Feb. 8th. — 1 am more and more convirced every day of my 
life, that if I would do these poor fallen girls good, I must do 
as Christ did; put my hands upon them. As long as they see 
that, however much I wish to do them good, yet I have a re- 
pugnance to coming in contact with them, they will never trust 
or confide in me. 


The only report of Aunt Lizzie's work in connec- 
tion with the Refnge, which can be fonnd, extends 
only over the first seven months. Taking that as a 
criterion of the whole two years, she probably made 
as many as five thousand visits of all kinds, a thou- 
sand of whicli were tor the express purpose of sav- 
ing unhappy, sinful women, and inducing them to 
return with her to the Kefuge. Between forty and 
fifty were persuaded so to do, and if a few of them 
wandered ofi" again to their old haunts, it was in 
spite of the tenderest care and Christian watchful- 
ness on the part of the devoted women who took 
charge of them. Many were saved, and to-day bless 
the fearless woman who, undaunted by danger, in 
the spirit of the Great Shepherd, went out after 
them until she found them. Over these she re- 
joices — aye, and will rejoice through all eternity. 

In connection with her other missionary work. 
Aunt Lizzie established and carried on during these 
two years a "Mothers' Meeting," where she instructed 
poor women in sewing, giving them also religious 
teaching, and advice in the training of their chil- 
dren. She was led in part to this work by her ob- 
servation of the great need of stricter maternal dis- 
cipline. " So many are ruined by the carelessness 
of their mothers," she writes in her journal. "As 
I look upon the faces of these poor girls in our fam- 
ily at the Refuge, I behold the results of the over- 


indulgence of some mothers. How many to-night 
mourn over their wayward daughters! Oh that 
every mother in this land could look upon this fam- 
ily and see her duty to her children." Such thoughts 
led to the establishment of this meeting for motliers, 
which brought the good news of salvation to many. 
In July 1867, Aunt Lizzie found herself very 
much exhausted, and failing in health. A month's 
vacation was spent at Peoria, the beloved spot where 
all her burdens seemed to drop oif. Here, as every- 
where, she strove to interest those with whom 
she came in contact in her work, and successfully. 
"While she lay ill on the sofa, the ladies came to- 
gether and put up two hundred pounds of fruit, 
which the Sunday-school scholars gathered, bring- 
ing to Aunt Lizzie great baskets of cherries, and 
pails of all kinds of seasonable berries. The cans 
and sugar were donated by the grocers. Thus, when 
refreshed by much-needed rest, she returned to the 
Refuge, she did not come empty-handed. But a 
great change was before her. The problem which 
the ladies who founded the " Refuge '' endeavored to 
solve is one so tangled and hopeless, that the greater 
part of Aunt Lizzie's labor was necessarily thrown 
away upon those who made no response whatever 
to her message of Christian fors^iveness. The lost 
sheep had no desire to be saved, and even when 
her prayers and tears awoke repentance, their wills 


were so enslaved by the fascinations which surround- 
ed them, that they lacked the moral courage to dis- 
engage themselves from their sinful life. Even 
those who have been led into vice by the wickedness 
of others often become content with their degrada- 
tion, and hopeless of anything better. The efforts 
of a single arm even though it be that of a strong 
swimmer, seem powerless to buffet the waves of 
both public censure and sinful allurement. Even if 
rescued, many return again to their life of vice. 
The strong hand of the law is needed to put a stop 
to such a state of things. Crime must be recognized 
and punished as such. And yet, alas, a great ele- 
vation of Christian sentiment must be attained 
before this will be possible. Surely, so long as these 
terrible vices walk with impunity through the streets 
of our cities, the church has no time to take her 
ease and amuse herself among the booths of Yauity 

In Sept., 1867, Aunt Lizzie writes in her journal: 

" The committee met to-day, and announced to me that they 
feared that they could not employ me any longer. They felt that 
they needed me much, but saw no way in which they could sus- 
tain me. I received the news calmly ; I went into my room and 
held my Bible close to my heart, for it was all that I had, weep- 
ing all alone, when I remembered the dying words of my old 
grandfather, uttered many years ago: ' Only trust Him, only 
trust Him,' and kneeling down beside my bed, I prayed, when 
it seemed to me I could almost hear the gentle voice of Jesus 
saying: ' Have I ever left you; do you think I will leave you 


now?' I was comforted— I can scarcely tell how, but I laid 
down and slept. In the morning I arose feeling remarkably 
calm and trustful, sure that some way would be opened for me 
that would be right and best." 

Hearing of a position in St. Louis, she applied 
to Col. Gilmore, head of the Chicago post-office, 
who promised to obtain for her a railroad pass to 
that city, but being busy, he postponed doing it 
till the following morning. When Aunt Lizzie re- 
turned the next day, she found the post-office draped 
with mourning, and learned that her friend had been 
drowned while bathing the preceding evening. Of 
course her journey to St. Louis was rendered impos- 
sible, as she could not afford to pay the price of a 
ticket. She decided to await the return of another 
acquaintance, of influence in procuring passes, w^ho 
was absent from the city. In the meantime, she re- 
ceived a letter from the superintendent of the Sun- 
day-school of the Second Baptist church of Chicago, 
offering her a situation as missionary of the school. 

" Sunday, Sept. 8th. — This morning, according to promise, 
visited the Sunday-school. Bro. Holden introduced me to the 
scholars as their new missionary. I could only reply to them 
by saying: ' Never be afraid to speak for Jesus, never be 
afraid to work for Jesus, never be afraid to live for Jesus, never 
be afraid to die for Jesus.' After 1 had addressed a few words 
to the children, the pastor, Rev. Mr. Goodspeed, gave me a 
most cordial welcome. The school closed by singing ' Never be 
afraid to speak for Jesus.' I then listened to an able sermon 
by the pastor, from these words: ' But it is good to be zeal- 
ously affected always in a good thing.' '* 


Soon after, amid the tears and regrets of all in 
the house, she left the Refuge, to begin her work, 
which still continues, with the Second Baptist 
Church of Cliicago. "Once more I committed my- 
self to God and strangers, and time will show how 
I stand the test," slie writes to a friend. Time has 
shown; she has stood for twelve years among the 
members of that church, a tower of strength, the 
center of an influence how wide and salutary her 
most intimate friends scarcely know. Fitted by her 
very failings to do work among the poor and the 
tempted, she fills a place that few will realize until 
some day it will be empty, when she will not be 
tliere, because God has taken her. 



The position to which Aunt Lizzie was apppoint- 
ed by the Second Baptist Churcli was that of Sun- 
day-school missionary. Her work was to gather 
children into the school, to instruct classes unpro- 
vided with teachers, to entertain such strangers as 
might drop into the school on Sunday morning, and 
to visit and look after absentees. Such a work in 
connection with a Sabbath-school, which at times 
enrolls on its book of members over a thousand 
names, is broad enough to employ the time and 
task the energies of any woman. It is, however, 
but the beginning of Aunt Lizzie's labors in the 
Second Church. She has really been church mis- 
sionary, visiting the sick and the poor and inter- 
esting herself in everybody and every good thing 
connected with the congreo-ation. All these dif- 
ferent lines of work have, in course of time, be- 
come as closely intertwined as the different colored 
strands in a Persian carpet, and it is almost im- 
possible to separate them. Still, for many reasons, 


it lias seemed to us best to analyze her labors, and 
we begin, as she did, with her work in the Sunday- 

She has the first and greatest qualification of a 
ffood teacher — unbounded afiection for children and 
sympathy with them. When among them she be- 
comes, for the time being, a child herself, and en- 
joys a good game as well as when she was a little 
girL How often have I seen her surrounded by the 
younger members of my own family, questioning 
the older children about their success in study or 
sport, looking at picture books with the little girls 
or admiring their dollies' dresses, praising their 
sewing, or binding up cut fingers. The unanimous 
verdict of all children is, " How nice it would be if 
Aunt Lizzie were our own auntie and lived in our 

Then she has great love for Sunday-school work, 
and thoroughly believes in it. There is nothing 
half-hearted in her desire for the conversion of 
children. Converted herself at twelve years of 
age, she knows that a child can believe in Christ, 
and all her subsequent experience and observation 
have only strengthened her in this faith. Through 
long years of work in the church, she has found 
that those who profess conversion in early life prove, 
as a rule, to be the most consistent and faithful 
Christians, and that the results of Sunday-school 


work are actually greater than those of any other 
method of labor. With such convictions of the 
heart as well as the head, Aunt Lizzie entered upon 
her career as Sunday-school missionary. 

At the very beginning of her work, she drew up 
for herself a series of rules of life which are well 
worth the study of every teacher. 

" I am resolved that I will never, either in the morning or the 

evening, proceed to any work, until I have first retired, at least 
for a few moments, to a private place and implored God for his 
assistance and blessing." 

" I will neither do, nor undertake anything which I would 
abstain from doing if Jesus Christ were standing visibly at my 
side; nor anything of which I think it is possible that I shall 
repent in the uncertain hour of my certain death. 

" I wU], with God's help, accustom myself to do everything 
without exception, in the name of Jesus, and, as his disciple, to 
sigh unto God continually, keeping myself in a constant disposi- 
tion for prayer. 

" Every day shall be distinguished by at least one particular 
work of love. 

"Wherever I go I will first pray to God that I may commit 
no sin there, but may be the cause of some good. 

" I will every evening examine my conduct by these rules. 

" Oh God, thou seest what I have written. May I be able to 
read ihese my resolutions every morning with sincerity, and 
every evening with joy." 

In this spirit she began her labors, which have 
continued without intermission for almost twelve 
years. The history and manner of her work can 
best be told by incidents, for this is a life where 


deeds speak louder than any amount of written 
theory or any number of statistics. 

In the early days of her work for the Second 
Church, she met a little fellow selling newspapers. 
He ran up to her, and said, "Lady, will you buy a 
paper?" His bright, though dirty face attracted her 
attention, and in order to begin an acquaintance, she 
took and paid for one. As she was opening hei 
purse, she said to him. " My lad, do you go to 

" No," said he, " no one ever asked me to attend." 
She cordially invited him to meet her at the church- 
door the next Sunday morning, and bring with him 
any of his brothers or sisters who could come. lie 
replied that he had but one brother, and that they 
would be sure to be on hand. 

Aunt Lizzie gave him one of her little cards of 
invitation, on which is the direction to the church, 
and passing on to other interests, the chance meet- 
ing slipped from her mind. 

What was her pleasure on nearing the door of 
the school-room the next Sunday morning to see 
two little boys, with well washed faces and clean 
collars, waiting for her. As she came down the 
street they flew to meet her, and entered the school- 
room holding tightly the hands of their only friend 
in that strange place. 

Aunt Lizzie placed them in charge of a teacher 


whom she knew to be faithful, one who watched for 
souls. But she did not lose her personal interest 
in them. Her soul yearned for their conversion, 
and with many prayers she besought the Great 
Shepherd to gather these lambs into His fold. Nor 
were her hopes frustrated. The older brother, the 
bright-faced newsboy, received in that Sunday-school 
a new and higher impulse, both for this life and 
the better life which is in Christ. He was convert- 
ed and united with the clmrch when about fifteen 
years old. Shortly after he left the city to atteiid 
college, where he worked day and night to earn 
money with which to pay for his education. He 
graduated with great honor, one of the best schol- 
ars in his class, and is to-day a prosperous surveyor, 
and an honored Christian man. 

Thus it is that Aunt Lizzie sees many of her 
Sunday-school boys and girls, filling places of in- 
fluence and trust in the Christian church, and the 
sight is the crowning joy of her life. 

No doubt they make better men and women on 
account of the education in benevolence which they 
receive from Aunt Lizzie. She calls upon the chil- 
dren to help her in her work among the sick and 
the poor. In her life among the dying in the hos- 
pitals, she learned to appreciate the value of flowers 
to the sick, and some years ago resolved to start a 
flower mission in the Sunday-school. One spring 


when tlie time came around for planting gardens, 
she called upon the children and their parents to 
assist her by raising flowers for distribution. Soon 
the bouquets began to adorn the school-room, some- 
times as many as forty or fifty were brought; these 
were put in water till after church, when Aunt 
Lizzie gave one to each child, who volunteered to 
deliver them, with the number of the house of some 
sick or poor person, and sent off a happy company 
of little home missionaries. The enthusiasm of the 
children spread to their parents, who frequently 
brought bouquets to the church for Aunt Lizzie's 
flower mission, and children living a little out of 
town added their contribution of wild-flowers. 
This proved a most blessed idea not only for those 
who received, but also for those who gave. 

But Aunt Lizzie does not confine her young help- 
ers to the aBSthetic wants of the needy. She calls 
upon the school to help her gather clothing for the 
poor, especially for such scholars as need aid. It 
is wonderful how greatly the Christ-like spirit of 
benevolence can be quickened in the hearts of some 
children. Blessed is the memory of one lovely 
child. Every spring and fall she brought all the 
clothes she could beg from her mother, and opening 
her bundle, would say, " Aunt Lizzie, this, I think, 
will do for that boy in Mr. A's class; did you notice 
how old his jacket is? And this dress is just large 


enouffli for that girl in Miss B's class." Thus her 
quick eyes often noted poverty which asking noth- 
ing, might otherwise have been overlooked. 

During the winter, when the Benevolent Society 
of the church provides great quantities of clothing, 
and often provisions, for Aunt Lizzie to dispense, 
she calls to her aid the Sunday-school boys, who 
delight to carry her bundles, and receive many a 
lesson of kindness and sympathy from her lips. Of 
all this great number of children, with whom she 
comes in contact in the Sunday-school, she remem- 
bers in a remarkable manner the faces and the 
names. Meeting them anywhere upon the street, 
she says, " How is my boy?" or " How is my girl? 
How do mother and father do?" recalling in a flash 
all the circumstances of the family. Thus each 
child looks on her as his special friend, and growing 
up consults her as a mother, in the trials that come 
with increasing years and responsibilities. 

Saturday is in a special manner Aunt Lizzie's 
Sunday-school day. On Saturday, she distributes 
clothing to scholars, who, without it, would be un- 
able to attend school next morning. On Saturday, 
she often accompanies the teaclier who chooses that 
time to visit her scholars, since the public schools 
are then closed, and they are usually at home. 
Many sweet seasons of Christian communion are 
enjoyed as they talk of Christ by the way. It has 


been for many years a habit of this Sunday-school 
for the classes occasionally to meet at the honse of 
their teacher . on Saturday afternoon, to take tea. 
From these reunions, so full of pleasure to the chil- 
dren. Aunt Lizzie is rarely absent. She always 
brings with her that good humor, which, as she 
says in her diary, is to her mind '• the clear blue sky 
of the soul on which every star of talent shines 
more and more clearly, the most exquisite beauty 
of a handsome face and the most redeeming feature 
of a homely one," a good humor which is infectious, 
and adds to the pleasure of the gayest little com- 

During the summer, her greatest pleasure is to 
join in the class picnics in which the teacher and 
children now and then indulge. Sometimes they go 
to one of the lovely parks, which are found on the 
outskirts of our city; sometimes they are invited to 
spend the afternoon with some friends so happy as 
to live' in the country. 

But the crowning event of the summer is the an 
nual picnic of the entire school, though it must be 
confessed that to Aunt Lizzie it is a day of great 
toil and care. Some weeks beforehand she is en- 
gaged in preparing for the occasion. Many poor 
children, scarcely ever less than fifty, come to her 
with very long, sad faces and say, "Aunt Lizzie, I 
cannot go to the picnic because I went last year, and 


Joe tlie year before. Mother says she cannot get 
clothes to make me look nicely enough. " " Never 
mind, my dear, " says Aunt Lizzie, " I will see to 
it. " And sure enough, a day or tvTO before they are 
needed, jackets, shoes and dresses are mysteriously 
found and supplied, while nobody enjoys the picnic 
so much as those who did not expect to go, unless, 
it may be, those who provide Aunt Lizzie with 
the means of sendino: tliem. 

When the baskets are packed for dinner, each 
family provides for an extra person, and bakers fre- 
quently^ send in boxes of crackers and gingerbread, 
so that Aunt Lizzie's family does not go hungry or 
lack for a share of all the dainties. 

But Aunt Lizzie's labors among the children are 
by no means confined to the period of their active 
membership in the Sunday-school. She has a mis- 
sion of comfort and aid for those who are sick. Her 
visiting list has included many helpless children, 
whose beds of pain have been smoothed by her kind 
touch. She gathers pictures and copies of cheerful 
verses, or short stories, puts them into a little box, 
and places them in the eager hands of the little in- 
valid, who finds many a weary hour shortened by 
her though tfulness. She spends much time in 
reading to them, and does not count the minutes 
wasted when she is cheering or amusing a sick 


The story of one dear child, who is not, for God 
took her, illustrates Aunt Lizzie's care of her schol- 
ars in want and sickness. Some ten years ago, 
Aunt Lizzie became interested in a little family con- 
sisting of a mother and three children. The eldest, 
a charming girl eight years old, she led into the 
Sunday-school. The mother was compelled to labor 
as a sales- woman, in order to sustain her little ones, 
and the children were left all day in the care of the 
oldest sister. Aunt Lizzie, knowing of their lonely 
life, and feeling that she must do the work which 
their mother was unable to perform, fell into the 
habit of paying them frequent visits, which were full 
of joy to them all. They were good singers, and Aunt 
Lizzie spent mnch time in teaching them hymns 
and Sunday-school songs. She tauglit them also 
the Scriptures, and was surprised at the maturity 
and beauty of the mind of the little girl, who acted 
as mother to the younger children during the long 
hours of the day, with a thoughtful care and kind- 
ness that could not be too much admired. Yery 
soon the prayers and instructions of her loving 
friend resulted in the conversion of the gentle child, 
and, at ten years of age, she was received into the 
church. Then Aunt Lizzie felt great solicitude 
that she should grow up a true and faithful Christian, 
and strove in her visits to train her to a life of use 
fulness. It proved, however, that she was prepar- 


ing the child for a life of glory in the kingdom of 
God. One winter day, a mischievous boy throwing 
snowballs, struck Ida a severe blow with one. The 
bruise developed into an abscess, and she fell into 
consumption. For several years she lived a life of 
patient suiffering. 

Unable longer to attend the girl's meeting, she 
never forgot it, but sent her "promise " every week 
by her little brother. A few days before she died, 
she chose that glorious passage: "Beloved, now are 
we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear 
what we shall be; but we know that when He shall 
appear, we shall be like Him ; for we shall see Him 
as He is." Aunt Lizzie's visits were now more than 
ever welcome; many were the little delicacies that 
she brought to tempt the failing appetite, many the 
loving words with which she soothed the pain and 
weariness of the patient sufferer. The whole Sun- 
day-school became full of sympathy; classes of girls 
often met with the superintendent at Ida's house 
on Sunday afternoon for little meetings of praise 
and prayer. The day she died. Aunt Lizzie sat by 
her bedside all the afternoon and sang softly her 
favorite hymns to the serene and happy Christian. 
Sm'ely, earth has no greater joy than that of minis- 
tering to Christ's little ones; heaven can have no 
higher reward than to hear the voice of Jesus say- 
ing, " Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these, 
ye did it unto me.'* 


For many months Aunt Lizzie made her home 
with a widowed lady, whose only child was a great 
sufferer. The poor boy became greatly attached to 
her and she took him into her heart as her own son. 
Through the long afternoon he waited impatiently 
for her return from her round of visits. No sooner 
had she entered the door than he would exclaim, 
" There is Aunt Lizzie, ask her to come to me." 
However weary she might be, she could never re- 
fuse to sing for him. God has bestowed on her the 
gift of song; her voice has always had the power of 
soothing pain, and quieting racked nerves. Often 
through the long winter evenings she sat and sang 
one hymn after another till far into the night; 
Dickey never satisfied, always begging for one more. 
His favorite of them all was, "Come to Jesus just 
now." Over and over she sang it, and one day he 
cheered her heart by saying softly, when she had 
finished, " That's it, Aunt Lizzie, that's the plan of 
salvation; I do come, I do trust in Jesus." 

Very early one Sabbath morning, he felt that he 
was dying, and sent for Aunt Lizzie to come to his 
room. She sat by him all day, while his mother, ex- 
hausted by many sleepless nights, lay on the sofa. 
When the bell rang for Sunday-school, he lifted his 
head quickly, " Hear the bell," he said, " are you 
not going?" " No, my son," answered Aunt Lizzie, 
" I am going to stay with you tc Jay " He 


breathed a sigh of satisfaction and said, " It is my 
last Sabbath." At intervals through the long day, 
she sang to him his favorite hymns, and helped his 
mother in the last ministrations of love. At sun- 
down, as Aunt Lizzie sat by him alone, he said sud- 
denly, "Tell my mother that I want her," and in a 
few minutes the two women who loved him best, 
resigned him with tears into the loving hands of his 

For some years the Second Church maintained 
several mission-schools, most of which have since 
been set off as churches. Not content with attend- 
ing two services, and the morning home-school. Aunt 
Lizzie, at that time, frequently spent her Sunday 
afternoons in visiting these mission-schools. She 
makes many entries in her journal of such visits, 
when she sang for the children or made little 
speeches to them, sometimes putting questions on 
the blackboard for them to answer. Their festivals 
too were never neglected. It must always be under- 
stood that Aunt Lizzie acts as almoner for the grand 
church which she represents. What a depth of be- 
nevolence is shown by the following entry of a visit 
to a school eight miles distant, across the city, from 
the parent church. " Went out to the Stock Yards' 
Mission to attend their festival. Carried out a bar- 
rel of apples, seven baskets of peaches, a case of 
choice grapes, five pounds of candy, half a bushel 


of biscuits and butter, twenty-five loaves of cake. 
Had a charming time. The children all had their 
Btomaclis, hands, and pockets tilled ; many packages 
sent to the widowed mothers and the poor families. 
On my way home, carried a large basket of luxuries 
to a widow, and another to an invalid." 

Nor is her interest confined to the schools con- 
nected with her own church. At all Sunday-school 
conventions held in the vicinity of Chicago, and 
most of those in the State, Aunt Lizzie is to be 
found, an honored guest, and a stirring speaker. 

"When she first came to Chicago, Aunt Lizzie 
began a diary, which she has kept ever since. It 
was commenced at the request of her beloved mother, 
who was anxious to know more of her daughter's 
labors than could be told in an occasional letter. 
Any one reading these volumes could not fail to be 
impressed with the wisdom and freshness of many 
of her observations, jotted down often at midnight, 
in great haste and weariness. Some of these char- 
acteristic notes may prove profitable to Sunday- 
school workers, coming as they do from a veteran in 
the field, whose opportunities for studying the sub- 
ject have been surpassed by but few. 

" It is not by a few great and brilliant efforts that Christ's 
work is to be done, but by those influences, indirect as well as 
positive, which distil from a life. Patient, earnest, Christian 
labor never fails. Its results may be unrecognized by the world, 
but they are not unseen nor unblest by Christ himself, for whose 
dear sake it has been wrought. 


" Why not look for success? I have long- since learned that 
it is not great talents God blesses so much as great likeness to 
Jesus. A true Christian man or woman is a strong weapon in 
the hand of God. He wants little helpers as well as preachers 
in His church. He has called me to this quiet work, and I take 
a world of comfort in knowing that God chose me for His child 
when He foresaw just what a child I would be. He was ac- 
quainted with all my faults, my history, my circumstances. 
He does not promise to release us from our unfortunate, natural 
peculiarities; though in the greatness of his giving. He often 
tenders wonderful relief. He promises peace with God in spite 
of self and sin, and the tempter's power of evil. 

" When I can expect help from no other, I can expect it from 
God. God has chosen the foolish things of the world and the 
weak things of the world to accomplish His work. I never 
realized this fully tOl I got well inside the vineyard myself. 
Some I found with great intellectual qualifications, and others 
with very little of this world's learning, yet they were alike 
men of great power. Those who brought great learning into 
the vineyard with them, 1 noticed set no value at all upon it, 
except so far as it furthers their work for Christ, being deter- 
mined to know nothing among the people, save Jesus Chi-ist 
and Him crucified. And truly one who knows Jesus Christ and 
the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His suffer- 
ing, has little else to learn to fit him for vineyard work. Just 
in proportion as I know Christ, I know myself. When I 
learn this, that I am weak, and know nothing, and that Christ 
is everything, I am able to do what Christ bids me to do. God 
is my helper. What a comfort to think that it is this Almighty 
Helper, who appoints to each one his labor. He knows just 
how much I can do, and He knows just how much He will have 
to help me, and He will never fail to do it. 

" Tl.ere is a faith in some which tends to idleness, trusts God 
to do all, and thus leaves the soul stupid and powerless. In 
others there is a faith that worries and works, and hopes that 


God will help. But, oh, there is a truer, better faith that 
works mightily, because it loves fervently; that never worries 
because it never fears. Love will, must woi'k, r„nd cannot be 
idle. It conies from God, and breathes itself out in prayer, 
praises and service, like springs that cannot be suppressed. 
It is spontaneous and grows by use. Faith that works by love 
is a tonic to the soul, strengthening it for bold endeavor, 
making it like God in active doings, in every service that can 
assuage a grief, relieve a pain, or impart a joy." 

" A true Christian living in the world is like a ship sailing 
on the ocean. It is not the ship being in the water that will 
sink it, but the water getting into the ship. So in like man- 
ner the Christian is not ruined by living in the world, which 
he must needs do whila he remains in the body, but by the 
world living in him." 



A YEAK before Aunt Lizzie came to the Second 
Clmrcli, tlie pastor had established a prayer-meeting 
for girls and placed it under the efficient leadership 
of Miss Ellen M. Sprague. It was held on Friday 
afternoons, in order to interfere as little as possible 
with the studies of school-girls, and immediately 
took strong root and began to flourish. When Aunt 
Lizzie began her work for the Sunday-school, this 
meeting was handed over to her as coming within 
her province. She found it with an attendance of 
from ten to twenty. As years went on, this number 
gradually increased until at times the average attend- 
ance has been from fifty to sixty. Aunt Lizzie 
was no novice in instructing young girls in the 
gospel. As far back as 1840, she had held a girls' 
meeting of three, when her little neiglibors on Rock 
River, came to spend Sunday afternoons with her. 
In Brimfield, also, as we have before stated, she used 
her Sunday-school class as the nucleus of a gathering 
for praise and prayer. Always delighting in chil- 


dren, she has been through life in full sympathy 
with young girls, and possesses great power of lead- 
ing them. 

The design and scope of her meeting in Chicago 
are best set forth in her own words, taken from one 
of her annual addresses. 

"The object of the girls' meeting is purely religious. "We 
come together to read the Word of God, and repeat His prom- 
ises; then in prayerand supplication we ask our Heavenly Fath- 
er to bless His own truth to the salvation of each. It is here I 
urge upon you your need of a Savior, seeking with all my heart 
to teach you what is necessary in order to become a Christian. 
First, you must see and feel that you are a sinner, then trust 
Christ as your Savior. First repentance, then obedience. Here, 
too, you learn the truthful lesson that there is no joy, no prog- 
ress in a Christian life, unless that life, without reserve, be given 
to the Lord Jesus Christ. 

" Your attendance on our Friday afternoon meeting has 
made it my grand rallying point in this dear church, where I 
can meet you, and we can sit down together at the Savior's 
feet, each repeating a Scripture text, and giving a recital of our 
week 8 experience." 

We have been requested to give the exact man- 
ner in which this meeting, so fruitful of good, is 
conducted. In the first place, it is considered one 
of the regular appointments of the church, and is 
given out every Sundaj' morning with the other 
notices for the week. Tlien Aunt Lizzie and the 
working members form, together, a committee on 
invitation. They all have the good of the meeting 
so much at heart that they voluntarily work for it, 


bringing in their school-mates and friends. On 
FriJav afternoon tliej meet at four o'clock, many 
coming directly from the public-school, with books 
and slates, l^o change of dress is considered neces- 
sary. Small as this fact may appear, it is one of 
considerable consequence. It is of great in)por- 
taiice for the success of such a meeting, that as little 
distinction as possible should be made between rich 
and poor, that all may feel that they are at home. 

Aunt Lizzie herself always takes charge of the 
exercises, though occasionally she calls upon some 
visitor to pray. The girls know that no matter 
what the weather may be, she will be there to meet 
them, and are encouraged by her faithfulness to 
be faithful themselves. Singing takes up consid- 
erable time, then reading of the Bible, with running 
comments suited to their age, and prayer. After- 
wards, each attendant, beginning with the leader, 
repeats a text of Scripture. So generally are the 
promises chosen, that the girls have come to call 
texts repeated there their promises. In case of ab- 
sence. Aunt Lizzie encourages them to copy out 
some passage from the Bible and send it to be read 
for them. 

One element of success is that the girls are taught 
to consider the meeting their own. They pray, 
talk, and select hymns to sing. Older visitors are 
not expected to take time which belongs to the 


regular attendants, though often called upon to 
address the meeting. Aunt Lizzie encourages the 
girls to tell their difficulties in leading a Christian 
life, and advises, counsels, or reproves, as the case 
may be. 

Different subjects or objects for praj^er are pre- 
sented at each meeting by the girls themselves. 
About two thousand different members have been 
enrolled during the twelve j^ears. Owing to the 
fluctuating life of a city there are only a few who 
have attended for a series of years, but the number 
is well kept up, and those who leave the city do not 
forget the blessed place of prayer. At the last an- 
nual meeting thirteen letters were read from absent 
members, residing in as many difterent States. 

Once a month there is a meeting of the " Band 
of Helpers." This is a " Mission Band," whose ob- 
ject is to aid the " Woman's Baptist Foreign Mis- 
sionary Society." It was formed during the summer 
of 1874, and was the first in the Chicago Association. 
To this meeting are brought contributions for 
sending the gospel to the heathen. Every year one 
of their number, chosen by themselves, is made a 
life-member of the Woman's Society, by the pay- 
ment of twenty-five dollars. Two or three years 
ago they pledged themselves to pay forty dollars a 
year to educate a Burman girl, in Miss Higby's 
school in Maulmain. This amount they could 


hardly expect to give themselves, but they raise it 
by canvassing among friends. 

The flower-mission which Aunt Lizzie started in 
the Sunday-school has of late years been in a great 
measure transferred to her girls' meeting. Under 
her direction also there is much missionary work 
done. A few months ago her Band of Helpers de- 
termined to send to Miss Higby a box of articles 
for her own use and that of the orphan girls of her 
school. With the assistance of the ladies of the 
church, they made a valuable donation, almost a 
quarter of which they gave themselves. They also 
visit sick members of the Band, often going on 
Sunday afternoons to sing and pray with those con- 
fined to the house. 

The short and simple stories of one or two of Aunt 
Lizzie's girls cannot fail to be of interest. The 
history of these girls was chosen because their life 
on earth is finished, so that there can be no possible 
objection to the recital. 

We have already mentioned the fact that the 
" Band of Helpers " support a native girl in Miss 
Higby's school in Maulmain. She has been named 
by them Hattie Gurney, in memory of a member of 
the Band, who died a few months before they took 
Sang See under their care. It was fitting that the 
girls should thus honor their departed friend, for 
she seems to have been one of those rare Christians 


in whom the loveliness of the heavenly life strongly 
manifests itself even here on earth. She and her 
sister attended the girl's meeting from the time of 
its inception, and were both converted there. Hattie 
had a character whose great sincerity shone forth 
in her daily life. She not only talked to her friends 
and companions about Christ, and prayed fervently, 
but she also lived the gospel before them, exem- 
plifying it with such sweetness, and humility, that 
those who saw her knew that she had been with 
Jesu8> Step by step the Father led her heavenward, 
till she reached the pearly gate, and quietly stepping 
over the golden threshold, was at home. 

As Aunt Lizzie stood looking for the last time 
on the sweet face, so placid in its rest, her heart was 
filled with inexpressible joy and peace, and from 
her inmost soul she thanked God for the years of 
sacred fellowship and communion which she had 
enjoyed with the departed one. She writes: "I 
shall ever love to dwell upon her memory, saying, 
'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
God.' My soul has never grieved over any act of 
hers, for she never did anything to dishonor God 
or disgrace His church." 

One day Aunt Lizzie noticed a stranger in her 
meeting, and, according to her custom, went imme- 
diately at the close of the services and said, " My 
dear girl, we are so glad to see you here," and in- 


vited her to the Sunday-school. She learned by de- 
grees Nellie's sad history. She was a stranger in 
the city. Her mother was dead, her father became 
dissipated, and with her little brother she had come 
to Chicago to live with their aunt. Aunt Lizzie at 
once made the acquaintance of the whole family, 
and when, soon after, the father followed his chil- 
dren, she united her efforts with theirs to induce him 
to reform, but with only partial success. 

About a year from the time Aunt Lizzie first 
met her, Nellie came and wished to secure her co- 
operation in a plan which she had formed. She 
said that her aunt was a feeble woman, that her un- 
cle was poor, and that she did not want to be a bur- 
den to them. She therefore desired to learn a trade, 
and would like best to be a dress-maker. Aunt 
Lizzie's first question was, " Have you consulted 
your aunt?" " No," said Nellie; "that is just what 
I came to see you about. I have asked her to in- 
vite you to tea to-morrow evening, and when I in- 
troduce the subject, I want you to help me persuade 
her to let me do as I wish about it." Of course 
Aunt Lizzie consented, and by their united plead- 
ing, the old lady was induced to lay aside her pride 
and give her consent to the arrangement. Aunt 
Lizzie then secured Nellie an excellent place. 

Soon after this the little brother died, and in his 
sorrow, the father turned for comfort to his drink- 


ing habits, instead of to God. Whenever he he- 
came sober, he was intensely mortified at his own 
behavior, and finally, to escape from the entreat- 
ies of his daughter, he went to St. Louis, where he 
died in a fit of delirium tremens. Two years after, 
her uncle died, leaving his wife to Nellie, who sup- 
ported and tenderly cared for her, until she, too, 
dying, left the poor girl all alone in the world. 

Then it was that she turned with increased love 
to Aunt Lizzie, and clung to her as if she had been 
her own mother. For five years this kind friend 
advised and comforted her. One evening return- 
ing from the day's round of visits she heard that 
Nellie was very ill. She had come home from her 
work the night before through the falling snow, 
her clothes wet to her knees; the next morning she 
awoke covered with measles, in a room without a 
fire. For seven days Aunt Lizzie did everything 
she could devise for her, but on one of the stormiest 
nights in March, was called to see her die. As she 
came into the room, Nellie called feebly to her, 
" Come here. Aunt Lizzie, let me kiss you once 
more, to express my love and gratitude to you." 
Taking the dear face of her only earthly friend be- 
tween her icy hands, she kissed it again and again 
until her lips stiffened in death. 



In the last twelve years, Aunt Lizzie has made at 
least twelve thousand visits to the sick. This num- 
ber is taken from actual entries in her diaries. 
These visits are not calls of condolence only, but in 
many cases she takes the place of nurse and doctor, 
as well as friend. Her life in the hospitals fitted 
her admirably for such work, as she learned at that 
time to di-ess wounds and prescribe for all ordinary 
diseases. She was obliged also to lay aside all fas- 
tidiousness in regard to the cleanliness of her patient 
or his surroundings, and by this drill has been ena- 
bled to do repulsive work whenever in her missionary 
labors, it has been demanded. Her visitations have 
not been confined by any means to the sick of her 
own congregation, but for years she has been sent 
for by strangers in different parts of the city to come 
and pray with them. Thus her work among the 
sick is very extensive. 

Often when some member of a destitute family 
dies, and Aunt Lizzie mentions the fact, those who 


hear the announcement, little know the amount of 
labor which is implied. In many cases she be- 
gins by laying out the dead, providing all the gar- 
ments, of which she has a store laid by, the contri- 
butions of friends. She next goes for the under- 
taker, and provides for the burial of the poor body, 
sees that a notice of the funeral service is given out, 
and procures singers for the occasion. Afterwards 
she inquires into the wants of the family and meets 
them, even to a little decent mourning, and calls 
in the neighbors to the funeral. How many steps 
all this necessitates, can only be known to those 
who have done like duties. 

It is not the poor only, who in sickness call upon 
Aunt Lizzie. Her friends all know her power of 
comfort and sympathy, and send for her to come 
and help them in various ways. A sick boy, just 
returned from Colorado, unbenefited, said one day 
to his mother, "Do send for Aunt Lizzie; 1 have 
eaten nothing in so long, that relishes at all; I am 
sure she could prescribe something." When she 
came he told her his desire. " Certainly my dear 
boy, " said she, " I will go right home and prepare 
your dinner myself; just you wait a few minutes." 
In a very short time she returned. She had found 
that chicken soup was over the fire, had filled a 
pretty china cup, covered it, and brought it over 
immediately. As she approached the house she 


eaw the sick boy at the window, following her wist- 
fully with his eyes, and when she gave him the 
soup, he drank every drop. " Ah, mother," said 
he, " it takes Aunt Lizzie to find out what 1 

In many cases Aunt Lizzie's care for a sick per- 
son extends over years, and her anxiety for the spir- 
itual welfere of the sufferer, is even greater than 
her sympathy on account of his bodily pain. If 
her friend is already a Christian, she delights to 
read the comforting portions of Scripture, and talk 
of the promises; but if the soul is far from God, her 
desire for its salvation knows no bounds. 

Some years ago she became acquainted with a 
family that hud no interest whatever in religion. 
She succeeded in securing the two little girls for her 
Sunday-school, and continued for years to visit them 
frequently. She had a great desire for the conversion 
of the mother, but though she often spoke to her of 
the needs of her soul, could receive no encourage- 
ment, that she would even think of the matter. 
One day in particular Aunt Lizzie called and found 
her friend so cold and hard, that her soul was sur- 
charged with sorrow. As she left the house, she 
feared that she was not doing what the Lord wanted 
in regard to saving that family, and was so full of 
trouble, that passing along by a vacant lot, she turned 
her face to the fence and cried to God for help. 


After four years, during which time Aunt Lizzie 
had become very intimate with the family, signs of 
consumption manifested themselves in the mother, 
and for two years she was a confirmed invalid. All 
this time Aunt Lizzie most earnestly sought God 
on her behalf, but received no satisfactory evidence 
of her repentance. 

One day she spoke to the sick woman of the con- 
version of a friend; told how she said that the Holy 
Spirit had convinced her of her sin, and led her to 

" "Well," replied the invalid, " she needed a 
change, I am sure." 

"Not more than you and I," said Aunt Lizzie; 
" the same Holy Spirit will work in us, if we desire 

" Do you think," asked the sick woman, " that I 
need the same forgiveness?" 

" Perhaps you need more," was the answer: " your 
privileges have been greater, and so are your re- 

"But still," persisted her friend, "is it not 
strange that there is only one way of salvation, for 
both wicked and good?" 

"There are none good," said Aunt Lizzie; "we 
are all sinners, and it is wonderful to me that Christ 
was willing to sufier and die that sinners might be 


The sick woman turned her face to the wall, and 
refused to continue the conversation, and Aunt 
Lizzie, as often before, went away with a sorrowful 
heart — for it seemed to her that here was one of 
those who are unwilling to be saved. 

In October, Aunt Lizzie was absent from the city 
for a few days. Her sick friend, missing her visits, 
became very anxious for her return. Now that she 
could no longer argue and object, she began in si- 
lence to think ; and the longer she meditated, the 
more disturbed she became. Day after day she sent 
to see if Aunt Lizzie had come home; she felt that 
.she could not die, without hearing once more the 
gospel which she had so often rejected. 

The first word Aunt Lizzie received on her return, 
in a cold, raw, November rain, was the message to 
repair at once to her dying friend, who threw her 
emaciated arms around her neck, and cried," I thank 
God that I am allowed to see you face to face once 
more. You little dream what you have done for me 
in your many visits. No prayer uttered has failed 
to leave its impress; no word expressed has failed 
to have its desired effect." In great bitterness of 
soul she cried, " What shall I do to be saved ? 
How did you come to Jesus?" Aunt Lizzie told 
her that she did only what Jesus bade her; the 
Bible said, " Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and 


thou shalt be saved ;" that she took Christ at His word 
and besought him to heal her, and he heard her 
prayer. She then read the excellent little tract, 
" It is all in believing," and sang, " There is a foun- 
tain filled with blood." But it was when Aunt 
Lizzie told her of the leper's prayer, "Lord, if thou 
wilt, thou canst make me clean," and the Savior's 
precious answer, that the dying woman grasped the 
truth, and cried, " Oh, Aunt Lizzie, pray with me, 
help me to pray;" and kneeling by the bed the faith- 
ful Christian pleaded for the sin-tossed soul, that the 
Holy Spirit would finish His blessed work and reveal 
Christ to the darkened eyes. When she ended, the 
sick woman prayed for herself, and cried, "Lord I 
believe, help thou my unbelief." 

For nearly two weeks Aunt Lizzie visited her 
daily, finding her always calm and peaceful. Her 
great bitterness of soul was exchanged for a confid- 
ing trust in the Lord Jesus. One morning her 
husband came and said that she wished Aunt Liz- 
zie to spend the last day with her. She seemed no 
worse than before, but her expressed wish came 
from the strange, intuitive knowledge, often possess- 
ed by the sick, of approaching death, for the next 
morning, at nine o'clock, she departed. As her 
faithful friend stood and saw her pass over Jordan, 
she could but rejoice with her. 

The following year one of the daughters died, re- 


joicing in Christ, saying, " Aunt Lizzie's visits, with 
mj mother's confirmation of the truth of what she 
taught, have brought me to Christ." 

Yisiting the sick is emphatically evangelistic 
work. There are many who, when strong and well^ 
avoid all reference to religion, but when stretched 
on a bed of pain, are eager to see those whom they 
believe to be the friends of God. Hence much of 
Aunt Lizzie's missionary work is done by the sick 

The two eldest children, in a family of Aunt 
Lizzie's acquaintance, became Christians and were 
brought into the church. The father was not a be- 
liever in the Lord Jesus, but a man of a very lovely 
natural disposition. When the children were con- 
verted. Aunt Lizzie became very desirous of leading 
him to Christ, and often asked God to show her 
how she might teach him the love of Jesus. One 
day, while at tea in his house, he thanked her for 
her kindness to his children and her care of their 
souls. "With tears, she answered, "My dear sir, 
what can I say or do to induce you also to come to 
the Savior?" But as yet he had no desire to heed 
her words. 

The next March, one stormy night, she was sent 
for to visit this man, who supposed himself to be in 
a dying condition. Wrapping herself in her water- 
proof cloak, she rapidly walked the eleven blocks to 


his house, and found him in great anguish of souh 
His first words were, " Aunt Lizzie, pray, oh pray, 
oh pray." With her habit, learned in the army, of 
addressing her friends by their first names, she an- 
swered at once, " Samuel, I will read you a prayer, 
I will sing you a prayer, and I will pray, and I 
want you to pray," She read the fifty-first Psalm; 
he followed word by word, and as she ended, cried, 
" That is me, that is my prayer, my prayer, O God !" 
Then she sang, " Jesus, lover of my soul," and knelt 
down to pray. It is Aunt Lizzie's conviction, 
based on the experience of years, that God does hear 
prayer, and as she kneels by the side of those who 
ask her to pray for them, she feels that she takes 
right hold of the hand of her heavenly Father; she 
prays as seeing Him who is invisible. 

At daylight she left the sick man peaceful and 
trusting in Christ. That sick-bed repentance is not 
always transient and spurious, is proved in this in- 
stance, for, contrary to his expectations, this man 
recovered, and is to-day an honor to his Christian 
profession. His repentance was for life. 

Aunt Lizzie also carries sympathy and consola- 
tion to the bereaved. Not only does she point the 
dying to the Savior, and smooth the Christian's 
pathway to heaven, but when the strong staff is 
broken and the beautiful rod, she is the strength 
and stay of the stricken household. She mingles 


her }>ravcrs and tears with those of the mourners, 
tells them of the glorious resurrection bj-and-by, 
and that we ought to rejoice when a loved one de- 
parts to be with Christ. Her diary is full of entries 
like the following: 

*'This morning I accompanied my dear friends to 
Oakwoods Cemetery, where the body of their moth- 
er, brought on from Milwaukee for the purpose, was 
quietly laid away for its final rest. I sought to 
comfort them. Blessed are the dead who die in the 
Lord. O, dreamless slumber, unbroken calm, pro- 
found and holy; in you these earthly griefs which 
wound, these cares that fret, these passions which 
rack the soul, find long oblivion. In you the weary 
forget their weariness, the troubled their heart-ache. 
The wan hands are folded across the still, cold 
breast in everlasting respite from toil, the motion- 
less, upturned face is smoothed forever from all 
traces of mortal anguish. We bless God for thee, 
gentle death; thou art the end of temptation, con- 
flict, pain and humiliation, and the beginning of 
glory and imraortalit3\ Thy valleys of sleep are 
bounded by the golden hilltops of heavenly prom- 
ise, bathed in the endless dawn of heaven. O, 
death, thou hast no sting for the Christian, and 
thou, oh grave, no victory over him." 

It is not with a thoughtless mind that Aunt Lizzie 
walks the streets on her errands of mercy. With 


but little time that she can call her own, she finds 
it diflficult to have stated seasons of prayer, but she 
has acquired the habit of talking with God by the 
way, and meditating on the great subjects of life, 
death, and immortality. Keady at any moment as 
she is, to pass a merry word with those whom she 
may meet, or to break into a hearty laugh over a 
trifling jest, such things are but the foam on the 
crest of the wave of thought which rolls on, deep 
and incessantly. Cheerful and happy she almost 
always is, but it is a cheerfulness that is the result 
of sanctified sorrow rather than an evidence of free- 
dom from care. The record of these thoughts gives 
a deeper insight into Aunt Lizzie's mind and .soul 
than any attempted analysis could. 

" The past month has been one of great peace to my soul. I 
have really had a fullness of consolation to which nothing could 
be added by mortal. I am happy anywhere, but most at home 
with the bereaved, with the tempted and the desponding. The 
mother weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, 
the old man grieving for his lost Joseph, the disciple mourning 
for his absent Lord, the doubter, at one time like Thomas ready 
to die for Jesus, at another time ready to say, ' except I see 
the print of the nails, I will not beheve '; such sufferers as these 
are my constant companions. They understand me and I un- 
derstand them." 

'* 'Cast thy burden on the Lord.' For two days this text 
has occurred to me again and again, like the refrain of a sweet, 
deep song. ' Cast thy burden on the Lord ' is both promise and 
command. 'He will never suffer the righteous to be moved.' 
But, Lord, I am not righteous, I love thee, but I do continual- 
ly what I would not. 


** ' I know it my child,' says Jesus, ' I realize all your sinful- 
ness, now here is my forgiveness; trust me and not your own 
heart; I gave this trouble to you that you might learn out of the 
depths to cast your burden on my strength. You are full of 
burdens, I know it, — like as a father pitieth, I pity you, and 
60 I say, cast thy burdens every one — sin, shame, weakness, 
loss — all on me.' 

"0 Lord, loving' and blessed beyond all praise of mine, here 
I am. Take my burdens and take me, too. I know, for thou 
hast said it, that whatever I give thou accept est, and now, 
dear Lord have thine own way with me and mine. There is 
nothing great or small left for me to worry about, and this is 
the Lord's meaning in stirring me up with trouble and calming 
me down to trust." 

"Made several calls this afternoon, "Was grieved to learn 
from so many that they do not pray. It is through the open 
door of the secret place of prayer that all riches fall from heav- 
en into contrite and believing souls. There God crowns his 
children who prevail with him. There life flows down a heav- 
enly river into the spiritual being of the worshiper." 

" Sorrow makes a silence in the heart through which God's 
voice can be heard. I have sometimes thought that that is the 
mission of sorrow." 



Although it was as Sundaj-scliool missionary 
that Aunt Lizzie entered the Second Church, she 
only worked a few weeks before she perceived that 
a society for clothing the poor connected with the 
congregation was an absolute necessity. Much in- 
dividual benevolence had been expended by the 
church, but as yet there was no charitable society 
among the ladies. Aunt Lizzie found unorganized 
liberality insuflBcient to meet the pressing wants 
which she saw every day. 

So, on the 13th of November, 1867, she spent the 
entire day in inviting the ladies to meet on the 
morrow to start a sewing and benevolent society, 
that she might have wherewithal to clothe the poor. 
The next day twenty-five ladies responded to the 
call, and organized a sewing-circle, which has had a 
vigorous existence ever since and has done a world 
of good. Aunt Lizzie, as the almoner of this society, 
has distributed to the poor the garments they have 
made. But she has also drawn from many other 


sources. The poor-fund of the church, and the 
benevolence of friends both in the city and in dis- 
tant places hare supplied her with money. Many 
donations from the country come to her, of fruit 
and clothing. Her reports contain many entries 
like the following: " My annual contribution from 
an old friend on Kock River, two barrels of apples, 
and two of potatoes; cases of plums, grapes and 
bed-linen from a lady in Tarry town, New York; 
fifty garments from Wisconsin ; wine and canned 
fruit from California." Money for her needs comes 
to her from many States, from Massachusetts to the 
far West, her soldier boys contributing considera- 
ble of it, knowing that to give to her poor will 
please her better than to give to herself. By look- 
ing over her reports we find that in ten years she 
made nearly forty thousand visits, distributed about 
five thousand dollars, forty -five thousand garments, 
not including a large number of shoes. Besides 
these she has given away large quantities of pro- 
visions of all kinds, bed-linen and household goods. 

Let us follow Aunt Lizzie as she betakes herself 
in heat and cold, sunshine and storm, to her labor. 

Often before she rises in the morning, and while 
she eats her breakfast, she is beset by a number of 
people who come on different errands of need. Here 
is a poor girl who wants a situation; there is a boy 
wliose mother is dying; this woman wishes Aunt 


Lizzie to trj and save her wayward child; that old 
man entreats her to provide clothing for a needy 
household. Endless and varied are their wants, — 
money and bread, counsel and comfort. 

"Before leaving the house," to quote her own 
words, " I found it good to kneel and pray in silence, 
to draw close to the tender, loving Christ, for I am 
going among the poor. Our Savior was found in the 
city streets, in the lanes and allej^s, where the lame 
and blind and sick were. If I do His work faith- 
fully, I must day by day have divine aid." First, 
she climbs a dark stairway and finds the discouraged 
mother of many little ones. As she recounts her 
troubles and difficulties with a look of agony, Aunt 
Lizzie changes her tears to tears of joy, as she prom- 
ises her clothing from the benevolent wardrobe and 
slips some money into her hand. "The Lord 
knows," cries the poor woman, " the Lord knows I 
don't know what to say to you, but the Lord knows 
how thankful I am." 

She next goes out to Blue Island Avenue, where 
she visits a widow, a great sufferer for years, whose 
two daughters strive in vain to keep the wolf from 
the door. She opens her bag and takes out a glass 
of jelly, and an orange, pays the rent, and finding 
that their only stove is useless and the weather 
bitter cold, she purchases them a new one and pro- 
vides fuel. 


Another family only two weeks in the city, have 
sent for Aunt Lizzie; their little boy has just died 
suddenly of scarlet fever; the coflBn stands in the 
middle of the room on one of their unopened 
chests. Everything is in confusion. Sickness has 
prevented their even unpacking their goods. Aunt 
Lizzie kneels in the midst of the sorrowing group 
and cries to Jesus to bind up these broken hearts. 
Then she bestirs herself to help them lay the dust 
of their child in the grave with that decent mourn- 
ing that is as dear to the hearts of the poor as to 
those of the rich. In the afternoon siie makes sev- 
eral visits in company with one of the charitable 
ladies of the church, wading through the snow; as 
they come home it is still snowing heavily, and they 
follow in the track of four men, who break a path 
in the middle of the road. 

This is no fancy sketch. These incidents are all 
taken from the pages of Aunt Lizzie's diary, and, 
with one exception, are all included in her work of 
one day. 

Let us give a day's work of a rather different 

While it was yet cool in the early morning, Aunt 
Lizzie went to look after her " tried ones," as she 
tenderly calls them. As she turned the corner of 
an alley, a ragged boy set up a shout that Aunt 
Lizzie had come; the children dropped their play 


and gathered around her. She drew them together 
in the shade of an old building, and began to sing 
to them. In twenty minutes she had gathered a 
congregation of thirty-two mothers and children, 
to whom she distributed papers and tracts, and then 
prayed and sang with them. 

Climbing many stairs, she next enters a room, 
terrible in its heat and discomfort, yet scrupulously 
neat and clean. Here dwell some of the Lord's 
own poor. Aunt Lizzie places her bouquet in a 
pitcher, where the sick man can enjoy its fragrance, 
and as she makes him a glass of lemonade, she lis- 
tens to the sorrowful words with which he tells of 
his pain and anguish of body, how he dreads the 
sleepless night, and with what joy he hails the 
morning. " What do you think about in those 
long, dreary hours?" asks the kind visitor. "I 
feel," answers the sick man, " that my peace is 
made with God; nothing troubles me but my rent. 
You see we cannot do without a shelter." 

"How much do you owe?" asks Aunt Lizzie^ 
who fully sympathizes with him in disliking the* 
very word rent. She knows too well that to the poor 
it is a word full of misery, darkness and woe. 

" Ten dollars," sighs the sick man, " and I have 
no way of raising a cent." 

Aunt Lizzie joyfully opens her purse, praising 
God that it has just been filled for her, and says: 


" I have the money for you, poor man." His whole 
frame shakes with excitement; raising himself up 
in bed: " What shall I saj^?" he exclaims; "the 
Lord has done it." As they pray together, he be- 
comes more calm, and seems to rest. 

"The next time I called," goes on the journal, "he 
said, 'You know the money you gave me, I could 
not wait for the agent to come, but sent it to him; 
I have been happy ever since.' I said to him, ' In 
these weary hours, give yourself no more anxiety 
about 3'Our rent. I have another ten dollars for you 
when it is due.' He wept his thanks, but could not 
speak. Thus Jesus magnified the gift. All this 
weight of gratitude to God and man, all this com- 
fort and freedom from care, all this joy cost but ten 

She next visits a lowly abode where a little child 
lies in pain. A holy joy irradiates the humble 
home, whose inmates have learned to repose, with 
implicit confidence, on the word of God. "The 
secret of the Lord is with the lowly," thinks Aunt 
Lizzie, as she bends over the dying child, and hears 
him tell of his confidence in the Savior whom he 
loves, and the home in the skies to which he is going. 
He has heard the story of peace, has welcomed it, 
and is blessed beyond the felicities of earth. She 
produces her gifts, a tumbler of currant jelly to 
make him a cooling drink, and the red peach whicli 


is held lovingly in the thin, hot fingers, and admired 
again and again before it is eaten. Then she prays 
and sings the familiar Sunday-school hymns, the 
child's voice joining in clear and ringing like a silver 
bell. Comforted herself she leaves the poor room, 
which is after all a gate of heaven. 

On the way home to dinner she calls on three 
motherless girls. To her joy she finds the two 
eldest earnestly inquiring the way to Jesus. Here 
she sits down and tenderly tries to take a mother's 
place in making clear the gospel to these children 
so dear to her heart, and prays that the promises of 
God may soon shed light upon their path. 

On her table she finds a request to visit a poor 
woman who has been very sick, and makes it her 
first business in the afternoon to see her. She 
learns that the familj'^ has resided in the city a year, 
but the woman not being social with her neighbors, 
none of them have been in to inquire about her. 
Her doctor seeing that she is a sensible person, 
though very peculiar and low-spirited, recommends 
her to send for Aunt Lizzie, who listens to all her 
complaints and tries to soothe her. After reading 
the Bible and praying, as is her invariable custom, 
Aunt Lizzie tells her that only the Holy Spirit can 
touch her eyes and make her see and believe, and 
begs her to ask God to help her. " I have very little 
faith in the kindly intentions of any one," cried the 


sick woman, " but I believe in you, and thank you 
for coming and praying with me. Is it not strange 
that I am so indifferent to religion ?" " Only that 
can make you happy," Aunt Lizzie tells her, and 
leaves her thinking over her relations to God. 

In the evening a young man calls, telling her that 
he has been to the houses of ten ministers to find 
one to marry him, but they were all out of the city. 
She tells him that Saturday is considered a bad day 
to get married. "But," saj's he, "I have got my 
pay and am now ready to take a wife. Why in 
thunder don't they commission you to marry folks?" 
To which Aunt Lizzie responded by giving him a 
card with the address of a clergyman whom she 
knew to be in town. In an emergency, she has 
sometimes conducted a funeral, but marrying peo- 
ple is still beyond her province. 

Such records might be made of many of Aunt 
Lizzie's days. Not all equal in interest, but many 
far surpassing these in actual labor. Often she 
makes from ten to fifteen calls, ascends forty flights 
of stairs and walks forty or fifty blocks in the course 
of the day. Nor is she deterred by the weather; 
the bitter winter days which others consider as an 
excuse for staying at home, are to her an additional 
reason for looking after the necessities of the poor; 
these are the times of severest want and suffering. 
On the second of January, 1879, the mercury fell to 


twenty-two degrees below zero, the severe cold be- 
ing accompanied by a searching wind, which made 
it all the more trying. Aunt Lizzie, fearing that 
some one would freeze, wrapped herself up as warm- 
ly as she could and taking a street-car, started to 
the rescue. After riding a few minutes, a gentle- 
man sitting opposite accosted her, " Madam," said 
he, " though you do not know me, I am well ac- 
quainted with you and your good works among the 
poor. If you can go out this terrible day to see to 
their wants, the least that the rest of us can do is to 
help you. Here are orders on my butcher for six 
roasts of beef; distribute them as you think best." 
Another gentleman added, " Allow me to help in 
this time of distress, and to give you orders for 
three legs of mutton." "Thank you, gentlemen," 
said Aunt Lizzie, " the poor will bless you for this." 
All day, like an angel from heaven, she went from 
one perishing family to another bringing to tliem 
light and joy. "Where they had no fire, she gave 
an order for half a ton of coal, where they were 
hungry, she fed them. Ko wonder that the name of 
Aunt Lizzie is loved and reverenced among the poor. 
Although naturally so exceedingly generous, that 
she has been known to take off her bonnet in the 
street and give it to some poor, old woman who bad 
none, going home herself with a veil over her head, 
Aunt Lizzie still is a careful and discriminating al- 


moner of the charities of others; money entrusted 
to her is seldom thrown awaj on the unworthy. 
Long experience with human nature lias rendered 
her so good a judge of faces that she is rarely de- 
ceived. Her rule lor giving is this: " The best kind 
of charity is to help those who are willing to help 
themselves. Promiscuous alms-giving without in- 
quiry into the worthiness of the applicant is bad in 
every sense; but to search out quietly and assist 
those who are struggling for themselves is the kind 
that scattereth and yet increaseth. It is not the 
true way to give a prayer instead of bread to the 
starving. My experience teaches me that it is much 
easier to make Christians of people when their bodies 
are made comfortable. I must care for the body in 
order to reach the soul." 

One of the modes of helping the indigent is by 
procuring work for them. The little rack behind 
her door often holds as many as forty names of those 
who have applied to her to find them employment 
of different kinds. This aid she extends to large 
numbers. In some of our business houses, Aunt 
Lizzie's recommendation is of great service to an 
applicant. Her helping hand is thus stretched out 
to whole families, often for a long period. 

During the war, a German soldier named Carl 
Schneider, was wounded in the arm and brought tc 
Aunt Lizzie's hospital. He was attacked by pneu- 


raonia, and it also became necessary to amputate 
his arm. He was thus confined to his cot for a 
long time. He had been ediicated a Koman Catho- 
lic; but as he lay in his bed and heard Aunt Liz- 
zie read the Bible to the wounded men around him, 
he drank in the precious truths, and, renouncing 
his old faith, became an earnest, happy believer in 
the Protestant religion. When well enough to 
leave the hospital, he was discharged, and returned 
to Chicago, with weak lungs, having sacrificed his 
health and strength to his adopted country. Aunt 
Lizzie on coming to this city found him very 
poor, with a family to care for. She secured him 
a situation as switchman on the railroad. Four 
years later, consumption developed itself, and he 
died after a short illness, leaving his widow and 
four children without a relative in this country, and 
in great destitution. Aunt Lizzie again came to the 
rescue. She had visited the sick man during his 
illness, and had the satisfaction of seeing him de- 
part a happy believer in Christ. After his death 
she procured employment for the mother, and a 
situation for the oldest boy, where he could be un- 
der the watch-care of a good Christian man. 

For three years she watched over the fortunes of 
the family, helping them in times of need, and 
preaching the gospel to them. The mother and the 
two oldest children were brought into the church. 


Then the mother fell ill and died. The four child- 
ren clung together for a while, but the oldest girl 
had had no trainins' which fitted her to take charg^e 
of a family ; and Aunt Lizzie, in her frequent visits 
found them so uncomfortable and forlorn, for want 
of a little forethought and good management, that 
she came to the conclusion that they would be bet- 
ter off in diflerent families. She therefore found a 
home forEmil, a boy of fifteen, on a farm where he 
would be trained to become a useful man, and short- 
ly after placed his younger sister, Annie, in a 
Christian family near by, where the orphan sister 
and brother would have the opportunity of meeting 
frequently. Thus she has secured good homes and 
a hopeful future for these children. 

Helping so many young people, Aunt Lizzie has 
learned to study their different characters, and the 
calling for which they are best fitted, and to assist 
them accordingly. One day an orphan girl called 
upon her, saying that she had just come to the city 
in search of occupation. Aunt Lizzie perceived in 
her at once a very active, intelligent mind, which 
had received but little training. She was eager to 
learn, but without means. For two years Aunt 
Lizzie befriended her. She procured her a home 
where she could earn her board by sewing; she 
helped her to pay for lessons from the best teach- 
ers; she saw that her wardrobe was supplied with 


plain, but sufficient clothing; in short, she acted 
the part of a mother to the young student. To-day 
this 3"ouug woman is living in a distant city, earn- 
ing an independent livelihood as a journalist. 

Not to help the lazy, and those who wish to make 
a living without work, is as distinctively a part of 
Aunt Lizzie's creed as to extend a helping hand to 
the struggling. Those that come to her with a 
whine that the world owes them a living, receive 
no mercy at her hands. " Go and make yourself 
a place in the world," is her advice to such, always 
kindly given. 

Even in more serious capes, her good nature never 
fails. One morning before daylight she heard some 
one stealing from her woodpile, just under her bed- 
room window. She crept from her bed and gently 
raised the sash. Directly below her were a woman 
and a boy filling their basket from her little store. 
No doubt if they had asked she would have given 
them more than they could carry away, but as it was, 
she was justly indignant that those, in whom she 
easily recognized, in the twilight, old recipients of 
her bounty, should be so ungrateful. In her softest 
tones she began to sing, 

'* To do to others as I would 

That they should do to me, 

Will make me happy, kind and good, 

Just as I ought to be." 


The thieving widow recognized the voice, gave a 
startled look upward, and fled, leaving her basket 
behind her. 

At another time she occupied a parlor, whose 
window opened upon a balcony of easy access from 
the street. She wakened suddenly one night, with 
the feeling that some one had entered the room. 
Cautiously looking about her, she saw one man 
rifling her bureau drawers, and another standing by 
the mantelpiece, on which was her watch. Aunt 
Lizzie had lived too long in the army to be afraid 
of a couple of burglars, and resolved to frighten 
them off. 

Sitting straight up in bed, she asked in a loud 
voice, " What are you looking for, boys? If it is I, 
here I am," and shook with laughter as they 
dropped everything, rushed for the open window, 
leaped from the balcony and ran up the street. 
Coolly rising, Aunt Lizzie fastened the window, and 
returned to her bed for another nap. 

We cannot better close this chapter than by giv- 
ing: in Aunt Lizzie's own words her feelino^s towards 
the poor, and her opinions on the much vexed sub- 
ject of benevolence. 

" It does seem to me that to share with the Lord's poor now 
and to trust Him to share with me by-and-by is the right sort 
of faith. Yet many of my friends remonstrate with me, refer- 
ring to my possible loss of health and old age of want. The 


Lord has been so faithful to me, his sinful child, I cannot for a 
moment doubt Him; the Lord helps the man that helps the 

" Have been looking over my wardrobe to see what I can 
gpare. I love the poor, they are my truest friends; I truly be- 
lieve they give more than the rich. Money is by no means the 
only thing to give in this world ; neither do large gifts contrib- 
ute more to the happiness of the receiver than small ones. In 
my daily ministrations, conversing with people, I often ask 
what or who does most to make them happy. Almost invaria- 
bly they tell of some benevolent old clergyman, whose salary 
has never been more than enough to barely support him, or of 
some poor widow who goes from house to hou-e like an angel 
of mercy. It is astonishing how much one can give without 
money ; a kind word, a helping hand, the warm sympathy of a 
heart that rejoices with those that do rejoice and weeps with 
those that weep. No person living is so poor as not to contrib- 
ute something to the happiness of those around him. Helpful 
acts and helpful words aie better than pearls and diamonds to 
strew along the roadside of life, and will yield a valuable 
harvest, as we shall find after many days." 

" Received a note from a sick woman, asking me to call upon 
her. The note stated: ' You are called upon because you are 
kind to the poor.' Philanthropy is not religion, but there is no 
religion without philanthropy. He that is indifferent to the 
poor is not Christian. How to care for the poor is a great ques- 
tion. It is to be done not merely by feeding the hungry and 
clothing the naked, but yet more by throwing a religious influ- 
ence around them. One of the Savior's most delightful dis- 
courses, second only to the sermon on the mount, was delivered 
at Jacob's well, to but one listener, and she a poor, despised 
Samaritan woman. How that encourages my heart to speak 
the truths of the gospel to all the solitary listeners I meet." 

" Oh God, make me a blessing to those in want and poverty. 


Let the poor as they pass my ^ave, point to the little spot 
and say: "There lies a friend whose unwearied kindness 
was the constant relief of my distress, who tenderly visited my 
languishing bed, and supplied my suffering wants; who was a 
cordial to my dejected spirit, and kindly watched for my 
Boul.' " 



"We propose in this cliapter to give a stetch 
of Aunt Lizzie's general work as a Christian wo- 
man. Though her time is given almost exclusive- 
ly to her vocation as the missionary of a single 
church, her sympathies are very broad, and she has 
found opportunities to assist in almost every de- 
partment of Christian activity. Time would fail 
us to tell of all her labors in different directions, 
but from a few examples the rest can be inferred. 

One Sunday afternoon, Aunt Lizzie on her way to 
a Danish Mission Sunday-school, passed a theatre 
which, in utter disregard of the Sabbath, was open 
for a matinee. A long line of boys, in some of 
whom Aunt Lizzie recognized her own Sunday- 
school scholars, were buying fifteen and twenty-five 
cent tickets. She counted two hundred and eighty 
lads and young men. " What, " said she, " will be 
the future of a country that so heedlessly permits 
the morals of its youth to be sapped ? " Sick at 
heart she resolved to pray over this great evil. 


A fortnight later, in a prayer-meeting held after 
the sermon, the pastor invited those who wished 
the prayers of Christians to rise. A gentleman with 
a pale face, in a large cloak, rose up on the opposite 
side of the room, but after the meeting was dis- 
missed, slipped out before any one could accost him. 
The next evening at the young people's meeting, a 
lady sat directly across the aisle from Aunt Lizzie, 
who noticed, every time she looked that way, that 
the eyes of the stranger were fastened upon her. 
Touched by the sadness of the face, Aunt Lizzie, as 
is her custom, at a pause in the meeting began to 
sing, "Jesus, lover of my soul," in which the con- 
gregation joined. At the words, " Otlier refuge 
have I none," the lady was visibly affected, and at 
the close of the hymn rose and confessed her need of 
Christ. The pastor called upon Aunt Lizzie to 
pray. She poured out her soul in faith for the con- 
version of the stranger. At the close of the meet- 
ing she went immediately to her, introduced herself 
and sought to point the way to Christ. The listener 
heard her with tears, and, as they parted, invited 
her to call at her rooms the next morning at ten 

Punctual to the moment. Aunt Lizzie was there. 
A little boy, three years old, opened the door for 
her, ran back and called, "Come, mamma, here's 
grandma," and then climbed at once into the visi- 


tor's lap. The room was elegantly furnished. 
What struvsk Aunt Lizzie afterwards as most singu- 
lar ornaments, were two mottoes hanging on the 
wall, " Nearer, my God, to thee," and " Simply to 
thy cross I cling." 

A door opened, and the lady entered, accompa- 
nied by the pale gentleman whom Aunt Lizzie had 
seen on Sunday evening. He was introduced as 
the husband and father. Aunt Lizzie was glad to 
meet him, as she had regretted his leaving the 
church without a word of Christian welcome. 

Husband and wife drew their chairs close to her. 
" Madam," said the gentleman with his eyes full 
of tears, " will you cease to love us when I tell you 
our profession ? We are leading actors in a theatre." 
Looking up at them. Aunt Lizzie answered, " Can 
I cease to love whom Jesus loves? And I know 
that Jesus loves you." Taking his wife's hand in 
his affectionately, he said, "You must have pecu- 
liar sympathy for my wife; her present position is 
vny fault, not hers. Sunday evenings, after acting 
in the theatre through the afternoon, we have at- 
tended your cliurch, and have become so convinced 
of our guilt before God, that we have resolved, at 
all hazards, to discontinue our connection with the 
theatre. We can no longei* profane God's day witli 
such practices." Aunt Lizzie proposed that they 
should pray together, and after she had pleaded 


with God on tlieir belialf, she said, " My son, pray." 
He had lived the life of an actor in a low theatre 
for five years, but he knew how to pray. He told 
God all their sin and cried for pardon. 

Afterwards they told Aunt Lizzie that they were 
penniless, having squandered all their money, and 
asked her to aid them in making an honest living. 
She emptied her purse, wiiich contained but three 
dollars, into their hands, and went out to get some- 
thing for tliem to do. They proved their sincerity 
by thankfully accepting the only employment Aunt 
Lizzie could find. The delicate woman worked at 
the machine, making overalls at a dollar a day, 
while her husband made paper bags. In this way 
tliey subsisted for some weeks. 

After a while, Aunt Lizzie discovered that the 
actor had married his wife against the will of her 
father. The motherless girl had just graduated 
from a young ladies' college, and, full of romantic 
notions, fell in love with the handsome actor and 
married him. Aunt Lizzie learning that the father 
was a Christian, though somewhat stern, wrote him 
a kind letter, stating the circumstances. She then 
persuaded the daughter to write, but before the 
letter was posted, Aunt Lizzie received an answer, 
full of love and forgiveness, from the father. The 
brother also wrote inviting them to his house. 
They went, followed by Aunt Lizzie's entreaties to 


pray and trustingly to wait for the revelation of 
God's will concerning them. 

A few days after she received a letter stating that 
the Lord had provided for their maintenance. The 
actor, who had formerly been a compositor, had at 
once obtained a situation on a county paper, where 
he could make a comfortable living. "We are 
happy in Christ," they wrote; "farewell to the 
theatre forever; the church shall be our home while 
we live." Following letters have proved that this 
was no passing sentiment, but their fixed purpose. 
Thus, though Aunt Lizzie's prayers did not close 
the theatre, tliey plucked as brands from the burn- 
ing, its two leading actors. 

Aunt Lizzie has always had a very tender anxiety 
for all those who, having never known the power of 
God, wander off into the darkness of doubt and in- 
fideli ty. Strong and true in the faith herself, she can 
still recognize the fact that others may not see as 
she sees. Instead of denouncing, she pities them. 
A couple of extracts from her diary will best show 
the workings of her mind on this important subject: 

*' I am satisfied every day that I can do more good by being 
good myself than in any other way. My varied erperience 
teaches me that men differ as to what is right, but all believe 
that something is right; they differ as to what is wrong, but all 
believe that something is wrong.'' 

" Called on a drunkard's wife; sought to comfort her with the 
words of Jesus. What power there is in those words. Before 


infidels can prevent men from thinking as they ever have done 
of Christ, they must blot out the gentle words with which, in 
the presence of hypocrisy, the Savior welcomed that timid re- 
pentance that could only express its silent love in an agony of 
tears; thfy must blot out those words addressed to the dying 
penitent, who, softened by the patience of the mighty sufferer, 
detected, at last, his Savior under the veil of sorrow, and implored 
to be remembered by Him when He came into his kingdom; 
they must blot out the remembrance of the tears He shed at the 
grave of Lazarus, not surely for him whom He was about to raise, 
but in pure sympathy with the soitows of humanity, for the 
myriad myriads of desolate mourners who could not fly to Him 
with Mary, and say, ' Lord, if thou hadst been here my brother 
had not died.' Ah, the Bible is true, eveiy word of it; God is 
true. Oh, that men could feel their need of a dying, risen Lord, 
their need of a Savior." 

Aunt Lizzie has found that there is no remedy 
for doubt except the Word of God, that the Bible is 
its own best witness. Hence in all her encounters 
with infidelity, she uses no weapons except those 
drawn from its armory. 

Some years ago, Aunt Lizzie met an old gentle- 
man, who professed to be an infidel. Though sixty 
years of age, he had no knowledge of Christ. He 
often tried to argue with her, but she, seeing that 
he had no wish to know the truth, always refused to 
enter into any discussion with him. She told him 
that his first great duty was to fear God and keep 
His commandments. Whenever he met her on the 
street, he sneeringly asked, " Are you still pray- 
ing ? " " Yes, " was the invariable reply. " For 


rae ? " " Certainly, " was tlie calm answer. One 
day, overcome by lier anxiety for his sonl, she be- 
sought him with tears to listen to her pleadings for 
Christ, but the old gentleman became very angry 
and went off in a rage. 

Some time after, he was laid on his death-bed, 
and his family, knowing nothing of these en- 
counters, sent for Aunt Lizzie to come and see 
him. Hearing some one entering the hall, he asked 
who it was ; and being told that it was Aunt Liz- 
zie, he refused to see her, saying that he would rath- 
er see any one than her. Finally, one snowy Sun- 
day, he sent for her. When she came into his room 
he greeted her cordially, and asked her if she had 
ever read " Beecher's Prayers, " a copy of which lay 
on a little table by the bed. She said that she had, 
and that she admired them. He then called her 
attention to a prayer that had deeply impressed 
him, headed, " My need of God. " " May I read it 
aloud ? " asked Aunt Lizzie, and as he signified his 
assent, she slowly read the petition so applicable to 
his case, much affected herself, for she hardly had 
dared to hope that he would ever show so much in- 
terest in anything religions. When she finished, 
she said, "If you had asked me, I never could have 
framed a petition which would suit you so well ; this 
prayer meets your case. " " Yes, " he answered, 
" I now own my need of God. Since I have been 


obliged to lie bei-e and think, I feel very differently. 
Teach me your plan of salvation, Aunt Lizzie, for 
it looks dark, I can't understand it. " Rejoicing 
that such an opportunity was at last granted her, 
she said that she had no plan of her own, but that 
she would read to him the words of Christ. She 
read a few verses from the eighteenth chapter of 
Matthew, and said, " This is the simplicity of the 
gospel ; a child can receive it, and you must become 
a child. " 

As he offered no opposition, she proceeded, " I 
will read a prayer if you will permit," and selected 
the fifty-first Psahn. As she finished, he groaned 
aloud and said, "Place a mark there, that I may 
read that myself, and do pray for me." She knelt 
down and besought God to have mercy on the re- 
pentant man. As she left him, he said several 
times, " I do believe, I do believe." He enjoyed 
great peace during his few remaining days, and died 
rejoicing in Christ. 

Aunt Lizzie has always been a "temperance 
woman." With no time to attend the meetinss of 
the various temperance societies, she has, neverthe- 
less, done the work of a small but active society 
herself, always ready to fight against the great de- 
stroyer of men's bodies and souls. "While she was 
in the hospitals, she gave many private temperance 
lectures, holding her audience of one by the collar 


or the button hole. In this way she often saved 
her boys from a worse enemy than the Confederates. 
Many made her their mother-confessor, and came 
to her for aid in their conflicts with temptation. 

One youth, who had been drawn into drinking 
customs by his fellow-officers, was in the habit, 
when he found himself becoming intoxicated, of 
flying to Aunt Lizzie, that she might keep him from 
the guard-house. She often hid him under the long 
table in the convalescents' dining-room, and, on one 
occasion, had hardly concealed him, when the offi- 
cer of the day came to arrest him. She sometimes 
threatened to expose him to his father, if he did not 
reform, but could never find it in her heart to do 
80. To-day, mainly through her entreaties and ex- 
hortations, he is a strictly temperate man, holding 
a high position. 

Often, when convalescents were left behind to 
assist in the hospitals, they yielded to the tempta- 
tion to drink to excess. Aunt Lizzie frequently 
came to their rescue by procuring orders for them 
to rejoin their regiments, at the front. All through 
the war, she proved herself, in this respect, the best 
friend of the soldiers. 

When she came to Chicago, she continued the 
same line of work. Though she has never been 
able to induce any saloon-keeper to close his bar, 
she has prevailed upon a large number of drunk- 


ards to enter the "Wasliingtonian Home, of wliicb 
she is a director. She finds that she must add ex- 
postulation to prayer, and many a man, devoted to 
his cups, has found Aunt Lizzie's prayers and en- 
treaties too powerful for him to resist. 

At times she has been a frequent visitor at the 
Bridewell, first going there when she labored on 
the south side of the city, to carry pardons that she 
had procured for erring girls, whom she hoped to 
save. Afterwards, she attended many of the Sun- 
day afternoon services held for the benefit of the 
prisoners. We copy an extract from her diary. 

" Nov. 12th, 1876. — Rode this afternoon, nine miles, out to 
the Bridewell to hold a meeting. I never was more divinely 
aided by God than on this occasion. The sight was truly ap- 
palling to me; over four hundred men and women; so many 
young girls, poor, helpless women ! The sight quite overcame 
me. I asked Deacon Albro to pray for me that I might be able 
to deliver my message for, and in the name of Jesus. The 
Holy Spirit's presence was manifested in unusual power. My 
own heart was brought into sweet fellowship with God, as I 
stood before them, and besought them, in Christ's name to 
Beek peace with God, and not to delay another hour. Over 
three hundred rose for prayer. I knelt down and cried to God 
on their behalf." 

In her visits to dififerent parts of the State, to 
attend Sunday-school conventions and other relig- 
ious gatherings. Aunt Lizzie has always made good 
her opportunities to help on the great work of sal- 
vation. Two of her visits to different colleges for 


girls have seemed worthy of record. The first was 
when she attended a meeting of the State Conven- 
tion held in Greenville. She was invited to speak 
before the students of Almira College, but at first 
she refused. "What message," said she, "can an 
uneducated woman like myself have to those young 
ladies?" Shortly after, when strongly urged, she 
went. The young ladies were gathered in the 
chapel. Aunt Lizzie looked round upon them, and 
was impressed with the thought that they, as well 
as others, needed the religion of Christ. She rose 
and told them of her mother, who had trained her 
to be a Christian ; then she reminded them of their 
own mothers, and that they must depend upon the 
same Savior, who had been the support of their pa- 
rents. She asked if any among them were moth- 
erless. A number raised their hands. " My dear 
young ladies," she cried, "you of all others most 
need this precious Savior and Friend — you who 
have no mother to love and guide you." Then, 
knowing their necessities and the trials that would 
assail them, she urged them to make their life a 
religious one — not in selfish seclusion, but among 
their associates and in the world. All were melted 
to tears, and many resolutions to lead a true and 
noble life were made. At the close of the service, 
Aunt Lizzie stood in the doorway and spoke to 
each of the sixty girls as they passed out, repeating 


to each a special promise from tlie Scriptures. Her 
wonderful familiaritj with the Bible is shown bj 
her ability thus, on the spur of the moment, to re- 
call sixty different texts applicable to the occasion. 

At another time she visited Illinois Female Col- 
lege, where she gave an address of such power and 
unction, that one soul, at least, was saved by it. 
The same evening she received a note from one of 
the professors, calling upon her to rejoice with him 
over the conversion of his daughter, who had been 
led to decide for Christ, by Aunt Lizzie's tender en- 

While Aunt Lizzie might be classed among the 
home-missionaries, her sympathies have never been 
confined to her particular field. She has always 
been an enthusiastic supporter of foreign missions. 
Though she has not been able to carry the story of 
the cross to the heathen, she has given of her small 
income to help those who have gone, and has sent, 
at least, one of her " dear girls," to represent her in 
the East. When about fifteen years of age, she at- 
tended a meeting in Auburn, New Tork, where 
Mrs. Wade, a missionary to Burmah, presented the 
claims of the vast, dark East to the pity and aid of 
Christians. Lizzie had no money in her pocket, but 
when the collection was taken, took off a new gold 
chain fro.n her neck, and put it into the basket. 
The zeal then kindled in her heart has never died 


out, and she lias always given far beyond her means 
to this object. 

Her sending a representative to the field, came 
about in this way. One day, some years since, she 
was called to visit an orphan girl, who was very ill, 
in the hospital. Aunt Lizzie saw that she had a fine. 
Well cultivated mind, and a noble nature, and led 
her, by prayer and careful instruction, to the Savior. 
When the young Christian grew strong enough to 
leave the hospital. Aunt Lizzie found her a situa- 
tion as teacher in an Orphan Asylum, where she re- 
mained for some time. Afterwards, feeling herself 
called to work more actively for the Master, she be- 
came first a home missionary, and finally went 
abroad to bear the glad tidings of the gospel to the 
benighted women of India. 

Instances might be multiplied where Aunt Liz- 
zie's example and precepts have led others into the 
same blessed labor to which she has consecrated her 
life. She counts among her friends several ladies, 
connected with the home mission work, who caught 
their first inspiration while visiting the poor with 
her in Chicago. 

She has also labored quietly for many years in 
behalf of the feeble churches of our Western country. 
Every year she sends a box of clothing, as her own 
special contribution, to some destitute home-mis- 
sionary, and has procured libraries for many strug- 


gling Sunday-schools. She has bought with mon- 
ey given her, for her own personal needs, by army 
friends, five communion sets for poor churches, and 
has subscribed for benevolent objects an amount of 
money, almost incredible when her circumstances 
are considered. Some years ago, she made this en- 
try in her journal, " I have been privileged during 
the last six years to give away nine hundred dol- 

Though she cannot always tell where she will 
find the money when she makes her subscriptions, 
tliey have never yet failed of being paid. How 
this comes about will easily be seen from the fol- 
lowing extract from a letter: 

"Last Sunday our annual collection for our Bridgeport Mis- 
sion School was taken. Most earnestly did I pray God to open 
the hearts of the people to supply the wants of the church. I 
signed five dollars, trusting in God for the money. That after- 
noon, when on my way to visit one of my sick teachers, I was 
met by a gentleman and his wife. He is not a Christian. He 
handed me five dollars saying, ' I wish to pay your morning 
subscription. Your devotion to your religion reminds me of 
my beloved mother now in heaven.' God grant that I may 
lead this man to trust in his Lord." 

It may not always be best to subscribe money 
for benevolent objects, when we have not the means 
to pay our pledges, still. Aunt Lizzie has tried the 
plan for many years, and has found that, if she ia 
willing to deny herself even the necessaries of life, 


in order to give, she is seldom obliged to do so, but 
the money is provided in some unexpected manner. 

That her other home mission labors are quite ex- 
tensive, may be seen from the following extract 
from her diary, which refers to one of several places 
where she has helped organize Sunday-schools and 

*' Saturday, May 12th, 1877. 

"At four o'clock took the train for W. Four years ago, for the 
first time, I visited this people, when I organized and estab- 
lished a woman's meeting. Forty ladies were present, and 
pledged themselves to sustain it; nobly have they fulfilled their 

"At my next visit I started a children's meeting, which has 
been blessed to the salvation of souls. The next year a Bap- 
tist church was organized. They now have a neat little 

Nor are Aunt Lizzie's sympathies restricted to 
the church. As we have seen, owing to the ill- 
health of her mother, the care of the family de- 
volved upon her when she was still a young girl, and 
she was prevented from obtaining an education. 
Her intense disappointment and regret that she 
could not gratify her thirst for knowledge, has 
made her always a friend and helper of students. 
For them she has ever an encouraging word, and a 
kindly sympathy. 

She was in Peoria, earning her living as a nurse, 
when the University of Chicago was founded. Her 
little farm at Brimfield had been rented ; five cows, 


belonging to her, were still there. She had been 
deeply interested in the University from the very 
first, and when an agent came to Peoria, soliciting 
funds for its support, she gave, as her contribution, 
forty dollars, the price of one of her cows. If Aunt 
Lizzie's purse were as large as her heart, there 
would no longer be any necessity for lamentation 
over churches in debt, or unendowed institutions 
of learning. 

Yet the story of Aunt Lizzie's life would be in- 
complete, if it did not include her arduous labors 
after the great fire of 1871. 

On the fatal Sunday evening, when the fire be- 
gan, she sat in church with her friend, Mrs. Irons, 
who was, at that time, living in Chicago. The next 
morning, alarmed for her safety. Aunt Lizzie start- 
ed for her house, but met her flying from the flames. 
Aunt Lizzie, being less excited, saw that there was 
no immediate danger, and persuaded her friend to 
return, and together they succeeded in rescuing a 
part of the household goods, and the portrait of 
Colonel Irons. Aunt Lizzie then conducted Mrs. 
Irons to a place of safety, and went on her way to 
help find shelter for other unfortunates. 

Tuesday morning, Aunt Lizzie went to the Con- 
gregational Church, on the corner of Washington 
and Green streets, to ofier her services. Mr. Sni- 
der the chairman of the committee for feeding the 


multitude, at once appointed her to superintend tlie 
young ladies and gentlemen, who were busj pre- 
paring meals from the provisions that already be- 
gan to pour in from neighboring towns. This work 
she continued for two days, seeing that the tables 
were supplied as quickly as they were cleared by 
the hungry crowds that flocked there to be fed. 

On Thursday, the committee were obliged to va- 
cate the church, which was needed by the city gov- 
ernment for other purposes. They decided to move 
to the Scotch Presbyterian Church, and Mr. Snider 
announced that in two hours and a half they would 
feed the people at that place. "Now," cried Aunt 
Lizzie, " let us show them in how short a time a 
regiment can be moved." All worked with a will, 
and in less than the prescribed time two hundred 
were seated and eating in the Scotch Church. 

On Saturday, the Second Baptist Church was 
turned into a hospital, and Aunt Lizzie was called 
home to help care for the sick. Here she woi'ked 
with the other ladies of the congregation for nearly 
a month. The main audience room of the church 
was converted into a lodging-room; the Bible-class 
room was a hospital, and the infant-class room was 
a refectory. The halls were full of provisions and 
clothing. All winter the work of distribution went 
on, people standing in long lines, even in the se- 
verest weather, to receive whatever could be given 


away. Donations came from all parts of the coun- 
try, and still, during the first months of the winter, 
Aunt Lizzie wrote to her friends only to apply to 
them for aid. Whatever time she could spare from 
the work at the church was devoted to visiting the 
sufferers in the hastily built barracks. 

During all the years that have elapsed since Aunt 
Lizzie left Memphis, she has been followed by the 
friendship and kindness of her " soldier boys " and 
their families. At first they sent her frequent gifts 
of mone}^ but finding that she gave it all away in 
charity, they gradually changed the form of their 
gifts, and now send her articles of dress instead, 
keeping her wardrobe supplied with many things 
that she would not think of buying, ^j number- 
less acts of kindness, and frequent visits, they have 
proved how dear she is to their hearts. With 
" Mother Sturgis," she maintained a correspondence 
for some years. Five years ago they met, for the 
last time, in Peoria, and parted on the bridge in 
Spring street, the same spot w^here, thirteen years 
before, they had pledged themselves to labor togeth- 
er in the hospitals. 



An elaborate analysis of Aunt Lizzie's character 
will not be needed; the whole story of her life 
proves that she is no ordinary woman. Still, the 
salient points of her disposition reveal so distinct- 
ly the causes of her success, that we may be par- 
doned for enumerating them. 

Energy that never tires, and enthusiasm that at 
times seems akin to genius, are tempered in her char- 
acter by rare common sense, and even shrewdness. 
The latter trait is illustrated in an amusing manner 
by the following incident: An old gentleman and 
his wife, former friends of Aunt Lizzie, when she 
lived on Rock River, called upon her in Chicago. 
They surprised her by saying that they had forsaken 
the religion in which they had formerly believed, and 
had embraced Spiritualism. They averred that she 
would share their faith, if she would give the least 
attention to the matter. To satisfy them, she accept- 
ed their invitation to accompany them to a seance, 
and judge for herself. In a darkened room, spirits 


of the departed were supposed to coraraunicate witli 
their friends. Voices were heard, and hands were 
thrust out from the shadow. One of the latter, 
Aunt Lizzie was told, belonged to her sister Roxy, 
who had been dead for twenty years. " If it is my 
sister's hand," thought she, " 1 have a perfect right 
to take hold of it." Immediately she seized it in 
both her own, and, turning to her aged friends, ex- 
claimed: " Do spirits possess flesh and bones, as I 
see this creature has?" The "spirit" struggled 
to free itself from her grasp, but Aunt Lizzie held 
it firmly, and proceeded: " The Bible says, 'flesh 
and blood shall not inherit the kingdom of God.' " 
The seance broke up suddenly; Aunt Lizzie's lack 
of faith prevented any further spiritual manifesta- 

From her earliest childhood she has always been 
distressed at the sight of suffering, and has been 
utterly incapable of inflicting it on even the mean- 
est creature. Yet so intense is her sympathy and 
desire to help, that the young girl who indignantly 
rejected her father's offer of a new silk dress, on 
condition that she would kill a turkey for dinner, 
stood, as a woman, by the soldier's cot, and held 
his hand, that she might help him endure some 
painful amputation. 

The trait of her character, that most frequently 
gets the better of Aunt Lizzie, is her generosity. 


It might almost be termed a passion. "Tell me," 
I said to her one day, "what became of all your 
household goods — you had such stores of everything 
of the kind, at the beginning." " O," was tlie an- 
swer, as if it were the most natural thing in the 
world, " I gave the greater part of them away." 

Mrs. Irons frequently writes to her such words 
as these : " My sister Lizzie's tokens of love are in 
every nook and corner of our little home. My eyes 
cannot turn in any direction without seeing some- 
thing tliat you have placed there." r'nt the most 
striking instances of her generosity are to be seen in 
her dealings with the poor. "We have already noted 
some of them. We will give one more: Coming 
home, one wet niglit, she found a poor, forlorn girl 
waiting to see her. The wretched creature had no 
shelter, and was clothed in rags. As she told of 
her misery, she lifted her tattered skirt and showed 
her feet, blue with cold, and encased only in a pair 
of old shoes. Aunt Lizzie saw hanging on the 
clothes-horse near by, a pair of her own woollen 
stockings just ironed. "Here," said she, "poor 
child, put these on." Her landlady remonstrated: 
"Aunt Lizzie," she exclaimed, " what are you about? 
you know very well that you have not another pair 
of woollen stockings in the world, except those on 
your feet; you have given away all the rest." 
" Never mind," was the answer, " she needs them 


more than I; God will provide." The poor girl 
went away warmed and fed. The next afternoon, 
Aunt Lizzie was invited out to tea. Durinor the 
evening her hostess showed her a quantity of new 
clothing, and, seeing in the corner of the bureau 
drawer a pile of thick woollen stockings, said, " Take 
two pair. Aunt Lizzie, these were knit for me by 
a kind old relative in the country, but I never wear 
them." Thus the Lord returned to her double what 
she gave away. 

Her energy exhibits itself in the vigor with which 
she prosecutes her work. Karely indeed does her 
diary record a day spent in attending to her own 
aflfairs. JSl either the severest weather, nor the most 
untoward circumstances prevent her from adminis- 
tering to the needy. During the prevalence of the 
epizootic, when no horses were seen in the streets of 
Chicago, Aunt Lizzie, visiting the poor, walked a 
long distance, and, when too weary to take another 
step, found herself far from home. Help was, how- 
ever, at hand; two young men, members of her own 
congregation, saw her sitting dejectedly on a door- 
step, and understanding the case at a glance, went 
for a buggy and dragged her home themselves. 

In seeking for the cause of Aunt Lizzie's success, 
we find that she lives a life of faith. She most 
thoroughly believes that if God gives her work to 
do, He will bestow the ability to perform it. Those 


who have heard her pray must have felt that she 
has the utmost confidence in God. She never seems 
to have any doubt of her Guide, or of His interest 
in her as an individual. This gives her great pow- 
er. Being thoroughly converted herself, she can 
work for others. 

A strong religious instinct lies at the very basis 
of her nature. From her childliood she has de- 
lighted in studying the Bible, and her soul has been 
filled with love and reverence for God. " My Sab- 
baths," she writes in her diary, " are my days of 
delight. The other days of this short life seem 
like a passing dream. I always look with anxiety 
to the weather. I watch the clouds, and my heart 
'feels easy only when I enter the sanctuary of the 
Lord. I ask God to help me worship Him this day, 
at least, with an undivided affection." 

Joined to this trust in God, we find a cheerful, 
courageous disposition, that makes the best of every- 
thing, and is not daunted by ditiiculties. Great 
as have been her troubles, she does not brood over 
them, seldom ever mentions them, so that many 
persons who have been acquainted with her for years 
know nothing of her greatest sorrow — her long sep- 
aration from her husband. She does not wear her 
heart upon her sleeve, but putting her own griefs 
aside, she rejoices in all that is good, and adapts 
herself easily to the circumstances of others. 


PlijsicaUy, slie has always been a woman capable 
of great and continued exertion. The surgeons, 
with whom she labored in the hospitals, often re- 
marked the steadiness of her nerves in the most 
trying moments, and knew that, whoever might 
flinch, they could always rely upon Aunt Lizzie. 
This nervous strength gives her the power of 
bringing things to pass, which she possesses to a 
remarkable degree. 

Those who have read the extracts from her diary, 
in some of the chapters of this book, need not be told 
that Aunt Lizzie possesses a superior intellect. 
Yet these excei-pts give but a faint idea of the elo- 
quence with which she sometimes speaks on a sub- 
ject which excites and interests her. Aunt Lizzie 
often regrets her lack of education, but she has been 
endowed with gifts that education could hardly have 

It is due to Aunt Lizzie to say that it was with 
the greatest difficulty that I drew from her the facts 
concerning her work. She invariably began to 
speak in praise of some one else, and had to be con- 
tinually interrupted with the question, " But what 
did you do. Aunt Lizzie ? " or with the remark, 
" That is all very well, but I am trying to find out 
something about yourself" She generally answered 
that her mother always taught her not to speak of 
herself. The principal facts recorded in this book, 


have been drawn from letters written to her nearest 
relatives and friends, and from her diary, written, in 
later years, for no eye save her own. 

Only once daring her twelve years in Chicago, 
has she allowed her private sorrows to interfere with 
her labors. She had not visited her widowed niotlv 
er for many years, but in 1869 she had saved suffi- 
cient money to take her to Vermont, and had made 
every preparation to spend her short vacation at the 
old homestead. But her sister Laura was ill in Illi- 
nois, and the anxious mother wrote that she pre- 
ferred that Lizzie should care for her sister. Thus 
she lost the last opportunity of seeing her aged 
parent on earth. 

When Laura had recovered, and Aunt Lizzie was 
again at her work in Chicago, Mrs, Atherton could 
not repress her longing to see her oldest child. She 
begged her, if she could not come to her, to write 
her a long, comforting letter. The aged lady was 
sitting, apparently in perfect health, knitting a 
stocking for her absent daughter, when the letter 
was handed her. She read it through, prayed fer- 
vently for her child, then went to her own room, and 
in a few minutes was found, by her grandchildren, 
in a dying condition. 

Aunt Lizzie, as she started on her day's round of 
visits, met the post-man at the door. When he 
handed her the black-edged letter, she ran back to 


the old lady, with whom she lived: " My mother 
has gone. I am sure it is my mother," she cried. 
She read the letter on her knees, and spent the day 
alone with God. The last earthly prop had been 
removed, and she was overcome by the most poign- 
ant grief. 

Aunt Lizzie never could have accomplished half 
that she has been enabled to do as missionary, but 
for the perfect confidence placed in her by the 
church for which she labors, and their hearty ap- 
preciation of her worth. They also act as her spe- 
cial guardian, watching over her tenderly and car- 
ing for her, knowing, as they do, how completely 
she ignores herself. 

Her own love for them is most beautifully ex- 
pressed in her journal, on the occasion of a severe 
illness: *' How I have enjo)'ed these few days at 
home. All my thinkings and doings are now with 
God. He is my all in all. I feel such a sacred 
nearness to my Savior. I lean my weary, worn-out 
head upon Him. What a privilege thus to un- 
burden my whole heart — my tried and weary, my 
tempted and sorrowful heart; tried by sin, tried by 
Satan, tried by those I love. Precious Jesus, how 
amply hast thou met my every want, and cared for 
all my necessities of body, soul and spirit. Thou 
hast put love into the hearts of all my dear sisters, 
who are so tender, and kind, and loving to thy 


lonely one, bearing with all my many infirmities, 
and helping me patiently to endure my weaknesses. 
My grateful heart blesses Thee, my God, for plac- 
ing me in this dear church. My selfish soul longs 
to breathe out its last moments on earth, here in 
the bosom of this church, with these dear sisters to 
watch over me, and finally to close my eyes, when 
I shall re-open them in glory. O, to be there; O, 
to see Jesus face to face. But a little while, and I 
shall be forever with my Lord." 


If by reading " The Story of Aunt Lizzie Aiken" you have 
learned to love her, will you aid her by recommending the book 
to others ? Could you not secure an order for one or more 
copies ? 

The profit on all books sold by the undersigned is devoted 
to a fund for the benefit of Aunt Lizzie. 

The book will be sent postpaid on receipt of $i.oo. 



350 Marshfield Ave., Chicago, 111. 


F Anderson 

.A23 The stoiy of Aunt Lizzie 


F Anderson 

.A23 The story of Aunt 
Lizzie Aiken 




L 14 eo 

^AR 23 8 1 


1 3 9 U 



DIXON, IL 61021 


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